


Just One Yesterday

by shinigami_yumi



Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: Adoption, Alternate History, Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Codependency, Complete, Drug Withdrawal, First Time, Forced Prostitution, Frottage, Growing Up, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Rimming, Temporary Amnesia, Terminal Illnesses, Time Travel, Underage Drug Use, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-03-30 01:19:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3917866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinigami_yumi/pseuds/shinigami_yumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter what they alter, the only thing that changes is the timing of destruction. That Man concludes they need to try fixing events further back in Frederick's life. I-No uses her power to help, but she doesn't know what she's looking for, and Sol's fate is inexorably linked to Ky's.</p><p>(A.k.a. The Four Times I-No Tries To Save The World, but ends up improving Sol and Ky's relationship instead, And The One Time She Succeeds)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I-No is going to time travel and fix one event in each chapter, and it will (sometimes drastically) affect Sol and Ky's relationship with each other.
> 
> I hope you enjoy. =)
> 
> Also, happy birthday, [Lacry](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wintervioleteye)!

### Timeline 1: It Could Be Easier

It feels like she’s done this a hundred times before, and I-No is sick to death of the pointlessness.

“Argh! How many times do we have to do this before I kill you?!"

They don't get it, of course; they never do — you can't remember what hasn't happened on your timeline. That doesn't mean she doesn't though, and it’s usually fun. Usually. When everything she's done on every timeline fails to go as planned, however, she'd rather forget what repetition she's on.

Finishing, she checks further, but nothing has changed, and she returns to the Integrate Point. The boss is busy with something completely arcane as usual, and it's a while before he turns to her. From where she’s lying down in the formless white space, she merely shakes her head.

Valentines are created all the time. They are tools of what That Man calls "a merciless Apocalypse" and she calls the ultimate killjoy. She has fought and killed so many permutations of them at so many points in time on so many timelines, but it doesn't seem to matter. She's tried eliminating others, too, with little effect. There must be something they're missing, but this is the kind of hard thinking she leaves to him.

“As expected, it must be one of the wheels that move the world," he says at last, and this is why he does all the thinking: on a good day, about a third of the shit he says makes any damned sense. It takes a certain kind of madman to create enhanced bioweapons, incite a hundred-year war and tamper with the laws of the universe in the interest of saving the world, but that's what makes him fun.

"It's ironic. To save ourselves, we tread into the realm of god, yet every victory has only delayed our destruction. It is but a matter of time." He gazes into a sphere of light in his hands. "The merciless Apocalypse… Is there no escaping this ugly future?"

"There must be a singularity," she offers finally.

“...yes. Without the conviction to draw my blade against god and the Earth, I have no right even to atone. The Conclave must not possess Justice's body. If the Child of Light and Darkness lives, she must retain her gentle nature and not be sublimated. If she dies, no trace of her can remain. Without Frederick, the next crisis cannot be averted. Without the High King, Ariels will win. What are we missing?"

"Perhaps you will find it in their past, Your Excellency?" Raven suggests as he joins them.

“That may well be the case," That Man muses. “As the movers of history, it is likely related to them, and if nothing we have done has changed the future, then perhaps we must intervene further back. The ripples of causality are far-reaching. It could be just a miniscule detail."

"You got anything better than that?" It'll be like looking for a specific stalk of hay in a very big haystack.

“...no. I'm afraid I must trouble you again."

She sighs and picks herself off the floor. “Don't complain if I try anything then."

Raven turns to give her a look of stern disapproval. “Don't do anything you can't fix."

"I-No, I leave it to you. Raven, there's something else—"

She steps through the portal.

She's inside a building that looks kinda familiar. It's late at night, and the lighting has been dimmed to a bare minimum. After looking around, she ignores the corridors and walks down the nearest flight of stairs curving downwards towards a large winged statue. Ah, she recognizes this place now. That's when she spots him, the Flame of Corruption, still in a Sacred Order uniform and carrying the Fireseal.

_Ah, what perfect timing. But I heard—_

"Sol! What are you doing there?!"

_Right on time. Well, let's wait for a good moment and see what we can do._

She ducks behind the statue.

-+-+-+-+-+-

It's late when Sol makes it back to the Order's headquarters. He's irritated — even taking the Fireseal today, he's been set back a year at least. Justice has moved to a new location, so he'll have to track her down all over again, and he's disappointed the Order doesn't have a better system for that. He'd be better off modifying the system in his lab now that he can recognise Justice's energy signature.

Well, no time to waste.

He stops by his room to grab a few belongings and heads straight for the vault. Destroying the lock is too easy, and he goes in, walks past all the treasures on either side, and grabs the Fireseal. It feels familiar though he hasn't seen it since shortly after he completed the whole set of eight all those decades ago. He'll get used to it in no time. Heading back out, he closes the door behind him and makes for the exit.

“Sol! What are you doing there?!"

Internally, he groans. Ky is past the rank to be on night patrols, so whatever serendipity this is, Sol hates it.

Blue eyes dart to his hands and widen. “Is that... the Fireseal? Could it be... You're stealing it?"

Sol wants to tell him the truth ("It's mine"), but that'd require too much explanation, and from the hurt betrayal in Ky's eyes, he can tell that nothing he says is going to matter. So he settles for "I'm borrowing it."

"Do you really think I'd allow that?"

Of course not, but it's not like he's asking for permission. He scoffs. “Only well-behaved brats think that everything will be fine as long as they obey all the rules."

"You bastard..." That's better. Righteous anger suits Ky better. "Someone like you doesn't have the right to even touch a Sacred Treasure!"

He tries not to laugh as Ky attacks and decides he won't use the Fireseal. The kid can't beat him as it is. Of course, this only makes Ky angrier. He dodges a Sacred Edge.

“Shouldn't the maker decide?" It'll be a while till he gets to tease the boy again after this.

Ky flips towards him with a Crescent Slash. "What?!"

"I said," Sol grabs the kid as soon as he lands, "you fight worse when you're angry." He headbutts Ky and tosses him up the stairs.

Ky picks himself up and resumes the assault with a frustrated cry. They trade a few more blows, but Ky's losing, as usual, despite his best efforts. Blockhead Buster knocks him back, the edges of his uniform charred and smoking slightly from the flames, and he sinks to one knee, using his sword for support.

Breathlessly, with effort, he says, "I—I thought you'd changed. I can't let you do this, Sol."

"Don't kid yourself, boy. You don't _let_ me do anything."

Ky tries to stand, but just then, Sol hears a sound —as if from a guitar— and a loud crack. Then the statue behind Ky falls over.

 _Shit._ "Ky!"

He dashes forward, Ky lifts his sword, and he knocks them aside an instant before the massive statue crashes to the floor where they'd been standing. They roll to a stop, but by the time Sol lifts his head to check, there's no one else.

_Coulda sworn that's where I sensed it—_

Ky lets out some mix of a horrified gasp and a choked sob, jolting him out of his search for that annoyingly familiar presence. That's when Sol remembers the half of a sword embedded in his right shoulder — it broke while they were rolling away. He grunts as he sits up on the floor beside Ky — it hurts, of course, but he's often had worse. Ky, on the other hand, looks like he's been stabbed through the heart.

Before they can speak, however, the rest of the Order comes running in, and Sol buries his face in his uninjured hand. _Ugh, what a mess._

Everyone starts talking at once as people try to figure out what's happening, voices rising to a crescendo, until someone suddenly asks, "Wait, is that the Fireseal?"

Everyone falls silent as they turn to look.

“What's the Sacred Treasure doing out here?"

Ky stands. "I—"

Sol turns to the boy and raises an eyebrow.

“I uh..."

"I told Sol to take it," interrupts a firm voice from above.

Everyone scrambles to stand in salute as their Commander walks down the stairs to join them. Everyone but Sol, that is. Ky's eyes dart from Commander Undersn to Sol and back.

"S—sir?" he asks weakly.

“At ease," the old man says to the crowd, and they switch to a more relaxed position, before turning to Ky. “I was going to tell you in the morning, as you're his commanding officer, but I assigned Sol a solo mission and told him to take the Fireseal because he's going to need it."

"A—ah..." Ky staggers back, pale as a ghost, and grips the banister for support.

Sol gives Kliff a questioning look. If the old man wants to cover for him, he won't complain, but he's surprised the Commander is letting him take the sword.

Kliff offers Sol a hand, pulls the Gear to his feet and pats his uninjured shoulder. “Even so, you needn't go so far to test the sword, Sol. I was rather fond of that statue."

"N—no! I mean, no, sir. The statue wasn't Sol’s fault at all," Ky interjects hurriedly. “We were fighting, yes, but the statue just suddenly fell, and Sol, he... pushed me out of the way..."

A murmur rises through the crowd, but Kliff only looks pleasantly surprised. “Oho? Well, don't mind this old man then. You're all dismissed. Hm..." He looks wistfully at the statue for a few moments as people start to clear out. "See he gets that shoulder patched up, won't you, Kiske?" he says as Sol starts to walk away.

“Ah, y—yes, sir." Ky seems to jump out of his daze and hurries to Sol's side.

"And Sol?"

The Gear turns. "Hn?"

"Don't forget." Kliff gives him a long, hard look. "No matter how far you are from here, you'll always be one of my men... and an important part of my family."

Family, eh? Well, it's been seventy-five years, after all. He remembers a time when this wizened man was a six-year-old runt — it's longer ago than it seems. "...yeah."

"Well, I look forward to seeing you again... in a peaceful world."

That's something he can certainly get behind. "Yeah." He hopes Kliff will retire before then though.

He lets a stricken Ky lead him to the infirmary where the medic on duty pulls the broken sword out, removes some metal pieces with tweezers and gives him stitches. It'll heal in no time, of course, but they don't know that. He disposes of the stained uniform and puts on a tank top and jacket before heading out. To his surprise, Ky is still waiting outside the door, looking anguished.

“I apologise for the misunderstanding," he says softly, walking beside Sol towards the exit. “Why didn't you just tell me it was Commander Undersn's orders?"

It wasn't true, but "Would you have believed me?"

Ky flinches like he's been slapped. “H—how is your shoulder?"

"Better than your sword." Ky doesn’t look comforted. “It'll heal."

The boy nods, eyes trained on the floor. “I'm sorry."

"Quit apologising. It makes you seem more pathetic."

Ky takes a deep breath, looking up at him. “Then let me thank you for saving my life. Again."

He scratches his head. "I didn’t do anything that time." They've reached the gate.

“All the same, I wouldn't have made it out without you." He'd been surrounded at the Battle of Rome, and Sol's still not sure how Ky survived that long. He’s glad though — Ky's strangely likable despite being a pain in the ass. Sol doesn't think too hard about it.

“Hmph. Stop being so careless."

"Right, right... You won't be here anymore."

"That's not what I meant." Sol turns around and regrets it — Ky looks so sad. "You hit your head back there, kid?"

"No... I'm fine." Ky shakes himself, forces a smile. “I’ll continue to refine my skills, of course."

"Heh." It'd be safer, he thinks, if Ky quit the front lines, but the only reason the boy would ever stop fighting is the end of the war. "Well, see you later." Sol walks off with a lazy wave, tightening his grip on the Fireseal. With this sword, ending the war is something he can do.

“Ah, Sol!"

"Hn?" He looks over his shoulder.

Ky opens his mouth and closes it again, then "Take care of yourself," is what he settles on at last. It's like he knows just what to say — Sol doesn't hate it. At least he doesn't ask for silly promises this time.

“Watch it," Sol drawls with a smirk. “One would think you were falling for me."

"W—what?!" Ky splutters, turning red. “I—"

Sol chuckles — that's better. Shaking his head, he reaches for a cigarette as he continues walking away.

“Still can't take a joke."

-+-+-+-+-+-

Sol looks down at the Gear lying at his feet. Grief wars with anger. He reaches out to touch her, but stops — he doesn't have the right.

"The three of us," she said. There’s no mistake. He never even considered the possibility, but to think... To think he used _her._

He won't stop. He won't stop until he finds That Man and rips him to a million pieces. _Aria..._ His cry of rage and anguish resounds throughout the empty plateau. Loose pieces fall from the wall and ceiling as tremors run through the building.

Just then, he hears footsteps running up the stairs behind him.

“Sol!"

It's Ky; of course it is. The boy takes in the sight that greets him and stops.

“Oh God... It is as I feared." He approaches for a closer look. “Is it... over for good then?"

"...yeah." Ky will rejoice, he supposes. He'll be alone in his wretchedness. As he should be. He doesn't even have the right to mourn her.

“Once again, you've saved us all." Relief turns quickly into urgency. “Wait, this isn't the time. I came to get you. The building is falling apart."

Sol's eyes widen in alarm. “What are you, an idiot?"

He grabs Ky's hand and starts running for the exit. Another tremor, and now they're dodging falling rubble as they go. Fortunately, Ky's always been nimble, and he keeps up easily. The exit is blocked, however, and he has to punch their way out. They tumble out into the open together mere moments before the building collapses in on itself behind them, and if he were less exhausted, he'd punch Ky next. As it stands, he glares left at the boy lying on the grass to rest beside him.

“What the hell were you still doing in there?!"

"Evacuating people." Ky waves at where other IPF officers are ushering civilians away. “You're the last."

Sol opens his mouth to yell at the kid, but only groans wearily and looks away. This is familiar — of course that's what Ky would do. Seven years ago, it'd been just the same. If they hadn't made it in time, he'd still have survived, but Ky... Ky is only human.

It's too bright out for the day's events, too sunny, and Sol's head is starting to spin. Between the fight with Justice and the mad dash out, he probably overextended himself a bit. The breeze is cool on his skin, and he lifts the hand not holding Ky's to sling his forearm over his eyes.

This feels like a good place for a nap.

-+-+-+-+-+-

It’s dim when he wakes, indoors on a soft double bed with only city lights streaming in from the window for illumination. His first instinct is to panic, but a moment's thought, and he has an inkling whose home this is. As his eyes adjust and he takes in the decor, he's sure — it's a slightly better decorated version of Ky's room from his Order days. Looking higher, he realizes he needn't have guessed — the medals and awards are at the top of the bookshelf. It's exactly where he'd expected them to be — Ky is proud and competitive, but not arrogant.

It's exactly where all of Aria’s had been.

The thought makes him bitter, and he thinks Ky needs to dust those shelves as he rubs a speck of dust out of his eye. He can sense Ky's presence just outside, and it smells like something's cooking. Whatever it is, food sounds good, and honestly, he's curious — having joined the military at such a young age, Ky probably hadn’t cooked a day in his life until the Order disbanded five years ago. Fortunately, the Order's kitchen had some good chefs on staff, so Ky's idea of proper taste shouldn’t be warped. He slides out from under the covers, takes the Fireseal along and walks silently to the door.

“I was just wondering if I should wake you," Ky says as he opens the door. “Dinner's almost ready."

Sol blinks against the sudden bright light and finds Ky standing over a saucepan in the kitchen.

“Well, actually, I wasn’t sure I'd be able to, given my unsuccessful attempts earlier. They even wanted to take you to the hospital, but I was certain it was just exhaustion, so I insisted they help me carry you back here instead of taking up a hospital bed another patient would need more."

Sol is immeasurably relieved — the last thing he needs is for a hospital to run some tests and make some stupid decisions. “I owe you one."

"No," Ky replies as he serves up two plates of pasta. “We're barely even." He sets the porcelain plates down atop the woven placemats laid out with silverware on the wooden dining table. “I’ve had to learn to cook since disbanding the Order,” he says as he sits down and indicates with one hand that Sol should take the seat across from him, waving at a stack of cookbooks on a corner of the kitchen counter with the other. “I don’t think I’m very good yet, b—”

“It’s better than I expected,” Sol interrupts, swallowing his first mouthful of vongole.

Ky is looking at him for the first time since they ran out of the arena this afternoon, and the other’s smile is warm but tentative, like he doesn’t know where they stand. Sol would be hard-pressed for an answer himself, so he concentrates on eating, and Ky takes his cue to do the same. When he clears his plate, Ky offers him seconds, and he accepts.

“I see you've gone back to bounty hunting these last few years," Ky fills the silence at last.

“Hn." At Ky's quickly hidden downcast expression, he adds, "It pays well for what I've always done."

Ky finishes his own meal and offers to make tea. Sol shrugs — it's not like he'd expected anything else. Ky does brew excellent tea in beautiful teacups, so he doesn't mind, even if he'd rather have a beer.

“It's been busy in the IPF these last five years," Ky volunteers as he waits for the water to boil. “Crime flourished while the world was busy fighting Gears, and now human bounties outnumber Gear ones. I expect the trend will continue."

"So you're saying I'll be broke soon if I keep hunting only Gears?"

"No, I doubt we'll run out of Gear threats so soon, even after today."

 _Today..._ Sol sets his fork down to keep from breaking it. Studious and gentle Aria, the Herald of Destruction. And to think, all this time, he thought he knew the evil he faced. He wants to rip That Man to pieces, tear him limb from limb, make him pay for all the lives he's destroyed — it makes his blood boil and his vision tint orange. KILL. BURN. DESTROY — he shakes his head to silence the voices.

"Unexpectedly, so many of the Knights joined the IPF too," Ky continues, lifting the kettle to fill the teapot. "It almost doesn't feel like I've left."

"Do you never get tired of running your mouth?"

Ky hisses in pain, hurriedly setting the kettle down on the counter and going to run the tips of his fingers under the cold tap — he's scalded them. “We haven't talked in six years, Sol, and I expect if I asked you what happened in that time, you'd just tell me to mind my own business," he snaps, voice clipped from the pain as he gently pats his hands dry. “So either we take this outside like the 'good' old days, or you have th—"

It's tempting to take Ky up on it, to let off some steam, but it's not Ky he's angry at — he doesn't deserve to take it out on anyone else. Instead, Sol catches him by surprise as he turns, taking his injured hand for a closer look. The tips of his fingers are an ugly swollen red. “You're getting sloppy," Sol murmurs, but before Ky can argue, he’s taken the digits into his mouth to lap tenderly at the smarting tips with his tongue, and Ky can only gape in shock.

As he keeps the gentle ministrations up, he hears Ky’s breath and pulse quicken, and when he looks up, the boy’s fair skin is flushed a bright red. Teasing Ky is still fun — he’d almost forgotten.

“W—what are you doing?!” To his credit, Ky does an admirable job of sounding scandalized.

“You need to cool them more,” Sol pronounces with a grin and puts them back under the cold tap before asking, “Do you have flour?”

Looking anywhere but at Sol, “I— Yes. Why?”

“Now that you’ve cooled the burns, a bit of flour usually prevents blisters. Old trick that used to work for me.”

Ky opens a cabinet with his right hand and takes a jar out. There’s a bag of flour inside, and he scoops a bit out over the sink to get a coat of flour over his fingertips. In the meantime, Sol fills the teapot the rest of the way, covers it and puts the kettle back on its stand. Ky immediately comes over, swirls the pot and pours out two cups of tea.

“It’s probably a bit oversteeped,” he mutters a bit unhappily, but Sol shrugs and takes a sip, leaning against the counter.

“You still make better tea than you fight."

Ky looks like he can't decide whether to laugh or take offense, and Sol thinks he should leave while things are still going well. He's itching to get hunting — when it comes to that monster, there's never knowing where to start. It's frustrating, but he can only keep killing That Man's creations and hope he'll pick up a trail.

"I should get going," he says as he finishes his tea and sets the cup down on its matching saucer.

Ky nods and sets his cup down although he hasn't finished drinking. “Yes." He walks Sol to the door, but stops with his hand on the knob. “W—will I see you again?”

Sol runs a hand through his hair. “Who knows?" It's better if he doesn't though, safer. Ky may be a soldier, but his nature is gentle. Sol’s path is one of bloodshed, and already he walks where no human should tread.

But Ky turns then, presses his back to the door. “You don't have to go." Sol can't see his face, but his voice has dropped to a whisper.

“There are things I need to do, boy."

"That's not what I mean." Ky bites his lip. “I— There's a lot I don't know about you. Heh, I don't even know your real name. And I won't ask —about today or any of that— because I know you won't tell me, and that— That's fine. But I—"

Sol wants to cut this off, to make Ky angry because that's easier, but—

In the end, all she'd wanted was some time. Not the cure he tried so hard to find. Just the rest of their limited time. It wasn't That Man who failed her.

"Sol, if it helps, even just a little, you can stay. Even just for tonight. Or come back whenever. I—"

He gathers the other into his arms, Ky melts into him, and the voices are silent. It's a comfort he doesn't deserve. He's tried to keep Ky away, out of his life, but he knows — despite his best efforts, the truth is Ky's been attached since even before the Battle of Rome. He almost wishes they'd parted on less friendly terms — it'd be easier.

"Tonight," he agrees, combing his fingers through golden hair. Time is something he has in abundance now. Perhaps, just for a little while, he can allow this much.

Slender arms wind tightly around him, and they don't say another word. Not even when Ky leads him to the only bed and snuggles into his side to sleep.

-+-+-+-+-+-

“Ah, what happened to your friend yesterday?"

Ky looks up as Adeline, one of his few subordinates who aren't former Holy Knights, joins him in the pantry — anyone from the Order knows better than to ask him about his rival.

“He woke up several hours later and left after dinner," he answers, forcing a smile as he refills his teapot. Sol was gone by the time he woke up, but that's not something he wants to talk about.

"Oh. I'm just glad to hear it wasn't an injury after all." She ducks her head and turns to make herself a cup of coffee. "Sorry for prying, sir."

"No, no, not at all," he reassures her as the smell of instant coffee mix permeates the room. "I was thinking of something else." _Am I so transparent?_ he wonders, pouring the tea into a thermos flask.

"Ah... I've updated our data on the bounties as requested, sir, so if they're all right, we can release the new warrants."

"Thank you. I'll look those over right away."

Taking the flask, he heads back to his office to check the warrants. The new list isn’t very different from the old — some numbers are different, some have been claimed, some have been added, but there are quite a few he's sure will permanently be there. By the time he's cross-checked, edited and released the list, the flask —three pots of tea— is empty.

It's just as well — that's the last of the day's paperwork, and he can head out to investigate that case he's been working on. He has a pretty good idea whom he's looking for, really, but cases aren't built on hunches, after all, not even particularly informed ones. Locking his office, he waves goodbye to his colleagues and heads out.

He stops dead in his tracks at the doors.

Lying on the stone steps, arms crossed behind his head, is Sol, smoking a cigarette and lost in thought. A few cigarette butts are scattered on a lower step, and Ky doesn't dare to hope it's him Sol's been waiting for. Still, Sol looks up as he approaches.

“The bin is only two steps away," he says pointedly, arms crossed. Indignation is easy — he never runs out of excuses to nitpick.

Sol sits up, extinguishes the smouldering stick beside its friends. "Pretty sure I saw a sweep walk by earlier."

Ky twitches. _Good lord, this man..._ “That's not the point. What are you doing here anyway?"

"Ah, I came to pick up the latest bounty list, but someone told me you were still doing the final check."

"Yes." Work. Of course it's work. It shouldn't hit like a rock in his chest or a stinging behind his nose. “I just finished." He turns and starts running back up the stairs. "I'll print you a copy."

He takes a deep breath and schools his face into a sheepish smile before entering his department, laughingly saying he forgot something at the questioning looks as he heads back into his office in the far corner. By the time the list has finished printing, he's calm enough to go back out there to check if Sol has cleaned up the litter. He staples the sheaf of papers together and strides purposefully back out the doors. To his surprise, the pile of cigarette butts is gone, and Sol is standing, leaning back against a pillar with his arms crossed, instead. Robbed of his justification to pick a fight, he simply hands Sol the list and walks away.

"Are you cooking again tonight?"

"What?" He nearly trips on the last step.

Sol looks up from flipping through the warrants. “I asked if you're cooking tonight. And I'm guessing if I wanna drink something besides tea, I'm gonna have to bring it."

Staring in shock, Ky hoarsely manages, “I— Y—yes." He swallows the lump in his throat. "And yes, I don't really have anything but tea."

Sol flicks Ky on the nose, "Still a goody-two-shoes," shaking his head as he walks away.

Ky clamps a hand over his mouth to silence his gasp, and he doesn't know why he's blinking back tears even though the weight in his chest has lifted. “Same time?" he asks with a hopeful smile, jogging to catch up.

“Yeah, yeah..."

Sol turns left at the junction, and he almost forgets he's supposed to turn right. It takes every ounce of his professionalism to focus on the case, and God knows he won't catch the Assassin Syndicate so easily anyway.

That night, he rushes home to make chicken dijon, and by the time Sol knocks on his front door with a six-pack in hand, he’s even managed to make space in the fridge.

-+-+-+-+-+-

It's been months since he last saw Sol, but Ky is fairly certain they'll meet here in Country A — you couldn't keep Sol away from a five-hundred-thousand-World-Dollar Gear bounty, especially when it's rumoured to be a Command Type. Even he has taken leave to come out here and investigate, after all.

He's starting to think he should have come on duty though. The bounty has drawn even some of the world's most wanted criminals, and even Zepp has gotten involved. But now, he's finally reached the Demon's Forest, and as soon as he steps in he senses it — Sol's just a little way up ahead. He runs to catch up and finds Sol leaning against a tree in waiting, cigarette hanging limply from his lips.

“Sol!"

The other lets the cigarette fall carelessly to the ground as he pushes off from the tree. “Turn back and go home, Ky. This is no place for a boy."

Ky frowns — it's as if Sol thinks he's still thirteen. “No. The International Police will take care of that Gear."

Mismatched red and ochre focus on him, and he steps forward to close the distance between them. After what looks like deep consideration, Sol asks, "And if I said you're the only person in the IPF that can be trusted?"

Ky wants to ask for an explanation, but this isn't the time. He takes Sol’s hand. "Then let's go together."

Again, it feels like Sol is studying him, then finally, "Do as you like."

They continue down the path together, and it's not long before they reach a clearing. There's someone waiting there, a man with long black hair wielding a scythe.

Red eyes fall on Sol — the man is a humanoid Gear. “So it was you." His gaze shifts to Ky. “Return, child of man. I have no business with you. The Demon's Forest is a place of peace. Do not bring the filth of the outside in here."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Ky replies, drawing the Thunderseal, and if Sol had known a century and a half ago that the sword would be in Ky's hands, he would have designed it just the same — it fits perfectly, like a natural extension of the man, beautiful.

Testament looks more closely at Ky. “In front of the populace, I shall be a shield from the storm and a rock of support," he quotes — Ky's wearing the uniform, after all.

Ky gasps. “That's... a Sacred Order oath?!"

 _Oh great..._ Sol lifts the Fireseal, stepping forward. "I'm tired of seeing you."

"Finally, some cynicism," Testament sighs, turning back to him. “And to think I was about to give up on killing you."

"No." Ky darts in front of him to intercept. "Sol, go on ahead. Please allow me to handle this."

For a moment, Sol thinks to tell Ky the truth about Testament, but it would only sway the boy's gentle heart. "I leave it to you."

As he sprints forward, Testament moves to attack. “I am the shield. I won't let you lay a single finger on her!"

"Sacred Edge!" The projectile comes between them, and the moment is all Sol needs to get past. "I'm sorry. As former Commander, I can't let this slide."

Red eyes flash with fierce anger as the Gear assumes a battle stance. "But you will let him kill an innocent girl?"

 _An innocent girl? Another like Solaria? Can that be true?_ "If you are concerned, then the sooner we finish this, the better." Ky takes his usual stance.

The other laughs, preparing to attack. “Foolish human, do you know that he, too, is a Gear?"

He'd suspected for years, but the confirmation changes nothing. He only needs the proof of Sol's actions. “I do. Knowing this, will you still not let me meet her?"

"Hypocrites. The only one bloodstained should be me!"

-+-+-+-+-+-

By the time Ky arrives in the next clearing, the battle is over. He's pleasantly surprised to find Sol standing over a crying young girl with mismatched wings.

"Stop crying," Sol is telling her. “It makes me feel guilty."

 _So it's true, after all._ "Is she the one everyone's hunting?" he asks as he approaches.

Sol turns to look at him, but before he can answer, the girl cowers away.

“Who are you? Why can't you leave me alone? I never wanted this power. I don't want to hurt anybody!"

He looks helplessly at Sol who shrugs. “Will you insist on bringing her in?"

Ky scrutinises the girl again. He senses the same innocence about her that Solaria had. Even Sol, who had not hesitated against thousands of Gears before, chose to spare them.

“No, I believe in you." He resheathes the Thunderseal. “Even so, we cannot leave her here."

"Why?" The girl looks up. “I hid here to have peace. Why can't you just stay away?"

After so many years of fighting Gears as the enemy, seeing these pacifist Gears is unsettling. He can't believe these innocent girls are monsters simply because of their nature, and yet... Seeing them as the enemy, had he hunted and killed so many helpless creatures who could do nothing but obey Justice? Ky shakes his head, moving closer. Thinking like this will get him nowhere.

“Hiding here will not bring you peace. More hunters will come. Even if it's a power we didn't want, it comes with responsibility. Instead of running, you must show the world what kind of person you are. That is what it means to live."

"But..." She wipes her tears. “If I leave here, it'll be a burden on everyone."

Ky smiles, crouching so they're face to face. "That's how it is to live, didn't you know? People draw strength from relying on each other."

"I see... I didn't know..."

Sol lights a cigarette as he watches the exchange. He doesn't particularly approve of the lesson, but he'll admit Ky is good at this sort of thing. There are people coming though — he’s better at handling that.

Ky holds out his hands. “What is your name, Miss?"

"I am called Dizzy." Hesitantly, she takes his hands and lets him help her up.

“Ky, there's someone—"

"Kyaah! Watch out!!"

Ky and Dizzy leap back. "Eh? From the sky?"

A young girl dressed in bright orange falls into the clearing. “Ah, ow, ow, ow..." She picks herself up.

“The Jellyfish Pirates? If this one’s here...”

“Yo, looks like May found you all right.” A man decked in black leather with a katana at his side saunters into the clearing behind the girl.

Ky massages his temple. “May and Johnny Sfondi of the Jellyfish Pirates. In truth, they’re wanted criminals, but…”

“Eh? Wanted criminals?” Dizzy hides behind Ky.

“Well, well, what a crowd.” Johnny takes hold of his sword. “Rather inelegant for the International Police to get involved, isn’t it?”

“Ah, no, I’m acting independently today. Thank God. Otherwise, I can’t say I blinked.”

Sol raises an eyebrow as Ky turns to Dizzy. _Without my noticing, it seems the kid’s grown up a bit._

“They’re wanted criminals, yes, but they’re not bad people.” He turns back to Johnny and May. “As you know, having her in any one country will start a war, but if she disappears…”

“I see.” Johnny relaxes slightly. “It appears the man exceeds his reputation.” He turns to Dizzy. “In that case, welcome to the Jellyfish Pirates!”

May claps and cheers, twirling aside as Dizzy steps forward.

“You mean… There’s a place I can go?”

Ky nods. “If you go with them, people will stop chasing… well, you specifically.” He presses his palm to his brow. “They get chased by the police a lot anyway.”

Dizzy chuckles. “That sounds fun!”

“I—” Ky sighs, muttering, “If I said that’s not the take away…”

Sol snorts, moving on to his next cigarette.

“For this Johnny, there’s no such thing as ‘no’ to a pretty lady… is what I’d like to say, but first, let’s test your skill!”

He unsheathes his sword, and Dizzy immediately backs away. “No! That's dangerous! Please don't come any closer! I don't want to hurt you!"

Ky shakes his head. “This is your chance to show people what kind of person you are."

"That's right," Johnny agrees, taking a battle stance. “If you don't lose yourself in battle, you pass. Try to win without killing me!"

Dizzy turns to Sol and Ky, unsure. Almost as one, they nod — they won't let her kill if they can help it, of course.

“All right." She assumes a defensive stance. "I'll do my best. Please be careful!"

-+-+-+-+-+-

Alone in the grove as the Mayship rises in the distance, Sol allows Ky to lean back into him and winds his arms around a slender waist.

“What did you mean about the IPF earlier?" Ky asks, lacing their fingers.

Sol debates it — there's very little evidence left to be found yet, and unveiling the conspiracy could create far more chaos. “It's not something that can just be told."

Ky turns to face him. “At least let me hear it. If there's injustice within the ranks of those sworn to protect the world's law and order, I have the conviction to pursue it."

Would Ky waver, he wonders, if the boy discovered the truth? "Can your justice trample on peace?" He sees the hesitation — Ky's always been transparent. "Thought so. So just close your eyes."

They're sharing breath now in their proximity, and when blue eyes fall shut, Sol doesn't resist the invitation. Ky makes a sound, at once of protest and desire, but kisses back, clumsy but without hesitation. It's been a year since that night — sometimes, he comes back from hunting, and they have dinner together before sharing Ky's bed. It's calming, and Ky's clearly content — he's too religious to consider much else, so this kiss is a first.

When they part for air, as expected, Ky looks conflicted, but instead of letting go and backing away, he tightens his embrace and rests his head on Sol’s shoulder. “I don’t need you to keep protecting me," he whispers. “Whether it's Gears, statues, dark truths or even yourself. I'm not fifteen anymore."

"I'm not doing it for you," Sol mutters, scratching his head. Protecting Ky from himself… if only.

Ky leans back to meet his gaze. “Regardless, I need to make my own choices, find my own answers."

This time, Sol deepens the kiss, and Ky opens up to him unreservedly. Supporting the back of a slender neck, he caresses the turn of narrow hips; delicate fingers scrabble for purchase on his back, and the sound muffled by their entwined tongues is unmistakably a moan.

“Why are you doing this?” Ky asks when they break off again. He’s breathless, a bit flushed, unmistakably aroused, but his beliefs won’t let him take the next logical step. Ky has always been true to his beliefs — that’s something Sol can respect, even if he thinks the beliefs themselves are flawed.

Sol smirks. “It’s the same. If you follow your heart’s desire, it will upset your ideals of right and wrong.” He pulls Ky closer to speak into his ear. “But investigate the Post War Administration Bureau if you want.”

The other shivers, then tenses. Sol can sense someone coming though, so he steps away. What enters, though, he’ll categorize as something rather than someone. The sight of it irritates him to the core.

“Target acquired. Identified as Ky Kiske. Useless original. Useless original.” It’s a robot, clearly made in Ky’s image.

“How… disagreeable.” Ky draws his Thunderseal. “Who is your master?”

“Transferring to attack mode... Case 48: Encounter With Original. Manual says, ‘Mimic actions accordingly—’ What the hell?!”

Before either can say another word, Sol is attacking with Bandit Revolver.

“Out of the way! Out of the way!” It says as it responds with moves clearly copied from Ky. “I was made to defeat the useless original. That is my raison d’etre!”

“Fuck you,” is all Sol says as he presses the attack.

As Ky watches with increasing distaste, someone else runs into the clearing — it’s the strange chef that tried to stop him earlier, the Chinese brunette with an Oolong tea can for a hair clip.

“Aiya! My ingredients… They're burning up the forest!” she wails. "Could that be the bounty everyone's talking about?"

"Ah, no, Miss, the bounty is gone," Ky interjects hurriedly, circling a safe distance around the fighting towards her.

“It's you! So you took the bounty?"

"What? No! I was too late to even fight it." Even if he were willing to try, he's never been a good liar, so omission is best.

"Aiya!" She slumps. “No ingredients and no bounty... My restaurant..."

"Restaurant?"

"I was going to use the five hundred thousand to open the best restaurant in the city," she explains despondently.

“Ah..." _A restaurant... A goal for peaceful times._ Such plans were unheard of during the war. He looks around. Suddenly, he spots a bit of blue amidst the grass. It must be the lock of Dizzy’s hair that Johnny cut off during their fight. He picks it up. “Well, if no one else comes to claim the bounty, perhaps you can use this?" He offers her the lock of hair. It'd be better if someone claimed the bounty, and Dizzy were declared dead instead of just missing.

“You're just giving it to me?" She warily takes the lock of hair. "This is from the bounty? Don't you want the money?"

"Ah, I'm actually a police officer, so it's inappropriate for me to be claiming bounties. I only came to investigate." He glances sideways at the fight between Sol and the robot. “You should go before they get more serious."

"What a nice policeman! Well, I'm Kuradoberi Jam. Please come to my restaurant when it opens. I'll treat you to a meal! Bring all your friends too! Only you eat for free though." She runs back the way she came.

_So I'm an advertiser? Oh, I suppose she can't be expected to treat everyone._

He turns back to the fighting just as Sol slams the robot into a tree with a fiery punch. Both tree and robot fall to the ground, and Sol impales the machine to the tree with his Fireseal. Ky runs over.

"You won't get away. You won't get away," taunts the mechanical voice.

"Tch, noisy doll," Sol grunts. "Pretty good copy though."

Ky frowns at the older man. “What a tasteless joke."

"You won't get away. The Cr—Crusades aren't over."

He whirls on the robot. “What?"

"Gigigigigiii... The P—post War A—administration B—bureau w—w—won't let you g—g—get away..."

Something seems to break inside it, and the machine goes dead. Ky still stabs it with the Thunderseal and sends a jolt of lightning through to fry everything, just in case.

"Heh." Sol pulls out the Fireseal. "Looks like they've begun to move."

Ky turns to face him, tries not to let the bead of sweat trickling down his throat become a distraction. “The Post War Administration Bureau...even within the IPF?"

"Even above the United Nations, is what I've heard."

Something inside him freezes with dread. _So high up... They must be everywhere. The Crusades aren't over... Behind the Crusades... the Gear Maker?_

"What will you do?"

"I'll chase them," Ky decides resolutely. “From the inside. Surely, I can find out what they're up to. But more importantly, Sol, what do you know about the Gear Maker?”

Abruptly, the Fireseal is at his neck. “Don't."

He doesn't even tense. If Sol wanted him dead, he already would be. "I just said I don't need your protection."

"No, he's _my_ prey." Sol lowers his blade. "Don't get in the way."

Ky steps closer. The sweaty and overwhelming scent of smoky musk should be less appealing than he's finding it now. "At least tell me if he's related to this PWAB."

Sol leans in, almost imperceptibly. "I don't know."

"Then why are you hunting him?"

"You said you wouldn't ask."

Ky hugs Sol tightly, so the Gear can't run. “Even now that I know what you are, will you still hide?"

Sol tenses in his arms. "How long?"

"I've suspected since the sealing of Justice. Please. Will you still not tell me?"

"He turned me and the woman I loved into monsters," the other sighs reluctantly.

"I see..." And he shouldn't ask; it shouldn't matter; but— "The woman...?"

"Justice."

“No..." Ky feels his muscles grow slack from shock. Then Sol killed... "I'm sorry." His voice sounds sandpaper hoarse though the answer gives him some relief, and yet... “Killing Frankenstein didn't bring his Creature any peace." Beyond vengeance lies only emptiness. He buries his face in Sol’s shoulder, tightening his hold and pressing closer.

Sol will admit he's impressed Ky has read that book — it was old even in his day. "No," he agrees, returning the embrace at last. _For that I have you,_ he doesn't say. "But I can punch some answers out of him."

This seems to suffice — Ky remains silent. After a few moments, he lifts his face and says, “You're not a monster."

"You d—"

"You're not," Ky interrupts insistently, leaning into him. "Sol, promise me something."

"Hn?"

"Come back," he pleads softly. “Come back to me. Once you've found your answers. Don't... don't disappear. Promise me you won't be alone."

"Hmph." Maybe that's how he got into this mess — sometimes, Ky sounds so much like Aria. "If I refuse?"

Ky steps back, but doesn't let go. His face is damp, his eyes a little red, but he's smiling. “I'll track you down, chase you to the ends of the Earth."

"What a pain..." Sol doesn't hate it. He supposes he has a type.

"Let's go home?" Ky takes his hand.

“Heh." He laces their fingers and starts walking. "I was wondering how long you were gonna stay in this damned forest."

-+-+-+-+-+-

When I-No returns to the Integrate Point, Raven is not there, and the boss is busy with some advanced magic again. The scene is familiar — it feels like she's back to the time just before she left on this experiment.

“I take it that didn't work," she pipes up instead of waiting for his attention.

“What didn't... ah, you changed something?" That Man turns to her. “The Conclave's plans fell apart, but few survived Baptisma 13, and fewer still the calamity that came after. This much data is all I can protect."

It's true — the white space seems smaller than it was when she left.

"I don't know how long this can be sustained, or when the next attack will be. This is not the future that I wished for."

I-No sighs, longsuffering, as she opens the next portal. Honestly? She doesn't care, but the alternative is being stuck in this white space with his nagging forever.

“Right. Let's try further back. Ciao!" She jumps in.


	2. Chapter 2

### Timeline 2: Can't Remember To Forget You

I-No is certain as she steps out that this is further back, but she's never been able to tell exactly when. She's on an airship now, just inside the doors leading out to the deck, and the decor looks familiar.

“Ah!" Memory serves — it's one of the Sacred Order's. It looks just like the one she'd hitched a ride to the Battle of Rome on. "Well, now, let's see if we can tell where we are from here..." She opens the doors and walks out on deck. The airship is pretty high up, of course, but she can just about make out some geographical features when she looks over the railing, and she thinks those are the Appalachian Mountains they're about to fly over. "Country A then, hmhmhm..."

Just then, the doors open behind her, and who should join her but the stars of this unchanging opera.

“For the last time, Sol," Ky Kiske is saying, and he looks just like he did at the Battle of Rome. “If y—" Noticing her, he stops. “Excuse me, Miss." He approaches her. "I don't know who you are or how you got here, but I must insist you go inside. It’s dangerous out here."

"Aww..." She chuckles — still ever so chivalrous. “That's very sweet of you, boy. I just might have to consider—"

"Rock It!"

"Sol!!" Ky shouts, his young face the picture of disapproval.

"Hah." She blocks the fiery punch easily. “Gotta say I've missed our duet."

"As I thought, you are no normal human." Sol continues to attack, ignoring Ky’s protests.

I-No laughs, evading to shift into the offensive. “You're hardly one to criticise, Flame of Corruption. Well, if you insist, I can play with you for a bit. Chemical Love!" She knocks Sol back, but he recovers quickly and charges towards her again. “That's right. Longing Desperation! Play with me some more! I like it wild, but don't go before me!"

"Tyrant Rave!”

She flips out of the way into "Ultimate Fortissimo!"

"AHHHH!!!”

At the scream, Sol and I-No turn as one — just in time to see Ky fall over the railing.

“Shit." It must have been a shockwave, and she’s sure she's fucked this up — the one thing she knows for sure is that Ky Kiske needs to be kept alive.

“KY!!!"

To her surprise, Sol Badguy vaults over the railing after him.

"Oh. Well, well, well.” She taps her perfectly manicured nails on the railing, pensive. “An exciting twist! Just what I like to see." All might not yet be lost then.

Time to sit back and watch.

-+-+-+-+-+-

Ky always imagined he'd die in battle, fighting Gears. He's not prepared to get knocked off an airship and fall to his death, but he's even less prepared to see Sol dive after him.

"What in God's name— Sol?! Wh— Are you out of your mind?!"

Sol catches up to him, grabs him and rolls them over, so he’s on top. “Yeah. Probably.”

“What are y—” Sol is strong, he knows, but he can’t even imagine how they’re going to survive this — no magic he knows can buffer an impact this big. “Why would you do this?” It looks like Sol intends to protect him, to die so he can live — just like them. “No… No, why?” It’s more than he deserves. “I haven’t even been kind to you.”

The truth is, Sol is fairly certain he’ll survive this, so he has no reason to let the kid die, especially since it’s partly his fault Ky fell off in the first place, but this isn’t the time to tell Ky he’s a Gear. “Focus, Ky,” he says instead, winding his arms around the boy to hold on tightly. “When I tell you to, put all your power into as many layers of magic shielding as you can.”

“You know as well as I do that won’t be enough.” Ky is crying now, and the wind whizzing past carries his tears away. Ugh, Sol doesn’t need to see this.

"Trust me—"

"Yes," comes easily, without thought.

“—and just do it, kid.”

Ky nods, clinging to him. “I’m sorry. If God grants me the chance, I hope to repay even this sentiment.”

“Heh. Remember you said this.” Sol cocoons Ky with his body — it’s almost time. “Dragon Install!!” Power surges through him as the transformation completes, and the tips of tree branches brush against his back as he slows their descent. “Ky, now!!”

As one, they raise all the magic shielding that they can, and he can hear Ky praying as, layer by layer, the barriers shatter on impact.

He still blacks out from the pain when it hits.

-+-+-+-+-+-

It’s cold when he wakes in waning light, and he's surrounded by white. The trees are bare around him, and the sloping ground is covered in thick snow, dense beneath his sore body. There's a warmth in his arms, and memories rush back as he turns to look.

“Ky!"

He checks the boy for discernible injuries and is relieved to find none, to find Ky still breathing normally. But the other's hands are cold, and he’s growing pale, starting to shiver in Sol’s arms.

With a flick of his fingers, Sol sets the nearest tree on fire, gently laying Ky closer to the blazing warmth, and inspecting the boy more closely. He still can't find any injuries and hopes there's no concussion or haemorrhage either.

"Ky," he calls again, tapping the kid's cheek in an attempt to wake him. The heat has put some colour back in Ky's face, and his hands are no longer icy. Sol taps more insistently. "Hey, Ky."

Thankfully, Ky stirs with a soft groan.

“Ky? Can you understand me?"

A slight nod — good, cognition appears fine. "...is that my name...?"

"Hn?"

"Ky," the boy repeats slowly. "Is that my name?"

 _Oh no. You've gotta be kidding me._ “What?” But Ky is slipping out of consciousness again. “Hey, no, no, no, Ky, wake up." He shakes the boy a bit, props Ky up in his arms. "C'mon, kid, you gotta stay awake. Focus."

"Mm..." Ky seems to struggle with that, but curls into him. “Who are you?”

"It's Sol, remember?" He shakes Ky again. "No. Don’t go back to sleep, you hear me?"

"Sol...?" Ky sighs. “That name sounds... so nostalgic..." He stills, losing consciousness again.

"Shit." Sol needs to get him to a hospital.

Removing the outer cloak of his Order uniform, he bundles Ky up in it and lifts the boy up — Ky only weighs about as much as his sword, thankfully. Sol can't tell where the nearest town is, but he's quite certain it's downhill. He hopes it's very near.

He starts running.

-+-+-+-+-+-

It's been ages, and the ravages of the Crusades have left the place greatly changed, but there's still something familiar about what used to be Massachusetts. Looking out on this city from the roof of the hospital, Sol can see the lake and the hills in the distance. Vacations were short back then —they couldn't leave the research for long— so they couldn't go far, but they'd drive out here sometimes, just the three of them.

Sol tosses his cigarette butt over the parapet bitterly.

That’s the last thing he wants to be reminded of.

He turns to walk back inside — Ky really needs to wake up soon.

-+-+-+-+-+-

According to Order regulations, now that Ky has been discharged from the hospital, they should report back in. Instead, Sol has rented a studio apartment for two months, which makes them AWOL for the first and deserters by the next. Captain Kiske wouldn’t approve, but—

"Sol, look what I found!"

Sol thunks his head on his palm, elbow resting on the table. He should have known it was a slippery slope when he agreed to take in the first injured kitten. Injured animals are a dime a dozen, what with all the Gears running about, and now they have a beagle puppy, a sparrow, an owl and two kittens including this one, all recovering from some kind of injury on their balcony. Every time Ky goes for a walk outside, he seems to find some small injured animal on his path — like a princess from one of those animated children’s movies that were popular in Sol’s youth.

 _Ugh, what a drag. It’s only been a week. If this goes on…_ “Ky, this is the last, you hear me? We’re not starting a zoo.”

His response seems to depress Ky, but the boy nods anyway. “When one of them gets better, we can let it go and rescue another?” he tries hopefully, and Sol buries his face in his hands.

Ky isn’t in any condition to get back on the front lines. For one, he can’t get his neurosurgery stitches removed yet. For another, despite the concussion being relatively minor, the kid has —hopefully temporarily— lost his memories, and without them, Ky is just a regular thirteen-year-old. All he wants to do is read books, play with other teenagers, go to community events and tend to injured animals — in all fairness, however, Sol’s only point of reference for “regular thirteen-year-old” would be Aria and his former self, and presently, Ky appears to be some amalgamation of both.

“Fine,” he growls, resigned. “Fine.” Raising teenagers isn’t Sol’s idea of a valuable use of his time, but he can’t just leave the kid — this is half his fault, after all, and if he ever sees that woman in red again, he swears he’ll rip her a new one.

“Ah, you’re so nice,” Ky sighs happily, running over to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re with me.”

Sol sighs wearily as Ky busies himself with cleaning and treating the injured kitten. Ky has been growing progressively more affectionate since leaving the hospital, and it’s like the kid’s lost some screws along with his memories. As it were, if only he remembered, Ky would count Sol the last person on earth he’d like to be stuck living with, and the feeling would be mutual. Right now, Sol’s bored, yes, but he doesn’t hate it. Ky’s a good kid — when he’s neither nagging nor preaching, he’s rather pleasant company.

“Ah, Sol, could you show me how you kept the bandage on the last time?” Ky calls from the bathroom.

He’s also rather useless.

Sol groans as he stands and makes his way to the bathroom to help. He needs a cigarette.

-+-+-+-+-+-

It’s still chilly outside, and the two kittens and puppy nuzzle his ankles as Sol exhales another cloud of smoke. Fortunately, the cigarette blocks out the stench from the big litter box on the far end of the balcony. Disappointed by his inattention, the trio crawl back through the hole Ky cut into the large cardboard box near his feet. Ky upturned it over the towels he’s using as their bedding to keep out the wind and weighted it down with some stones he picked up. He also slipped warmers between the towels, so it’s probably pretty toasty inside. The two birds chirp intermittently out of a smaller box hanging from the railing.

Behind him, the glass door slides open. “I made some tea,” Ky says softly. “Come to bed?”

“Hn.” He takes a last drag and flicks the butt over the ledge.

Ky frowns. “I’ll set the ashtray outside next time, so please don’t litter anymore.”

“Yeesh, always such a nag,” Sol mutters — even with amnesia, Ky isn’t that different; he just has fewer things to nag or preach about. He asked Sol to quit the first time he saw Sol smoke too. Of course, Sol tersely told him to mind his own damned business, and he dropped the subject in favour of sullen silence, but Sol still catches the pained look in blue eyes every time, although he doesn’t bring it up again.

Regardless, Sol goes back inside, accepts the mug of peppermint tea Ky hands him and slides under the covers to recline on the pillows. The local library has some recent magazines about the latest developments in magic research, and he couldn’t help the spark of that old curiosity, so he checked them out along with Ky’s novels. There’s plenty of space on the queen-sized bed, but Ky still snuggles close and leans into him as they sip at their tea and read.

“What’s with the sudden… touchy-feely?” he asks at last — the expression tastes utterly foreign.

Ky sits up and turns to him, hesitant. “Does it bother you?”

Sol scratches his head. “That’s not what I said. I asked why, boy, what’s gotten into you?”

“Ah…” After some thought, Ky shrugs helplessly. “It feels right. It wasn’t always like this?”

“...let’s just say we usually talked with our swords,” he replies, turning back to his magazine.

The answer upsets Ky, however. “If we disliked each other so much that we fought all the time, why did you save me when I fell down the mountain?”

Sol sets his magazine down. “First off,” lest Ky persist in his weird ideas, “we fell down the mountain together.” Untrue, but he’s not about to explain how they survived falling off an airship. “You hit your head; I didn’t. I only carried you to the hospital. Secondly,” he runs his hand through his hair, “if I wanted you dead, Ky, you’d be dead. I wouldn’t wait for an accident.” He resumes reading about the newly discovered uses of ki — theoretical research is terribly far behind practical application.

Ky bites his lower lip. “Do you— Do you dislike me, even now?”

“Not when you’re minding your own business, no,” he answers absently, flipping a page.

There’s no answer, and only the muffled sob minutes later makes him look up.

“I don’t understand, Sol.” Ky wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his fleece pyjamas before Sol can ask. “Why do you dislike me for worrying about you? Is it so bad that I don’t want you to fall sick and die?”

“Ugh, Ky…” He can’t explain that he’s immune to lung cancer either. “Look, I do more dangerous things than smoke all the frickin’ time, kid. So worry about yourself instead.”

“Don’t,” Ky pleads, throwing thin arms around him, empty mug forgotten on the bed. “Don’t talk like you could die any day now.” He buries his face in Sol’s shirt. “Don’t fight with me. Please.”

Sol sighs, longsuffering — this is worse than Ky’s usual self. Not that Ky hasn’t always been softhearted; he just had more pride and hid it better. Or he was angrier at Sol.

Awkwardly, Sol winds an arm around the boy and cards his fingers through blond hair. Ky doesn’t say another word and silently cries himself to sleep.

-+-+-+-+-+-

“Have you ever wondered what life would be like as a bird?”

Sol freezes.

Walking through the park in the crisp fresh air seemed like a nice change after the chemical stuffiness of the hospital —Ky’s stitches are gone now— but this is too much déjà vu for comfort.

“No,” he says at last. “You don’t have to be a bird to fly, after all.”

He’s relieved when Ky laughs, taking his hand as he ducks below a willow branch. “No, but life for humans is so much more complicated, don’t you think? With its wars and its intrigues?”

“Heh. And what would you know about that?”

Still laughing, Ky shakes his head.

“Anyway, you see everything through the lens of being human. What makes you think life as a bird is really any simpler?”

“Well, animals can’t lie, can they?” Ky asks, leading him along the path. “They’re true to their natures, for good or ill.” Around them, various birds chirp and sing as they flit from one tree to another. “For instance, if we were birds, I could just sing or dance, and we’d know if you liked me. Simple, isn’t it?”

“...what?”

“Ah, i—it’s uh...” Ky seems to suddenly realize what he just said and blushes. “Just an example.”

In the ensuing awkward silence, “Maybe if you were a bird, you’d be able to sing or dance at all,” Sol jibes with a scoff — safer ground.

Chuckling weakly, “Y—yeah,” Ky hurries to change the subject. “There’s a community barbecue by the lake this weekend. Shall we go?” He casts about for an excuse, looking anywhere but at Sol. “They could probably use some help starting the fire.”

“Hmph.”

“Err… Do you like barbecue though?”

“Hn? Yeah.”

“Oh, th—that’s great.”

They fall silent then, and it’s stilted all the way back to the apartment.

-+-+-+-+-+-

As if granting Ky’s wish, the barbecue features plenty of singing and dancing, and Sol surreptitiously uses magic to get the grill going as the dancers attempt to teach Ky clogging with little success. A few guitars and tambourines are being passed around to whomever can play, so there’s quite a mix of music as the instruments travel around the circle. Once the grill has been sorted and the food is coming along nicely, Sol accepts a guitar, and the circle erupts into cheers as he plays a song off his favourite album — still a classic after all this time.

The instruments are set aside temporarily when the food is ready — almost everyone brought some, so there’s plenty to go around. Ky sits beside him on the grass to eat, and it looks like the boy’s having fun. He hasn’t seen Ky much since that day in the park — the kid spent most of the week either holed up in the library or playing basketball with the other teenagers at the nearby court. When he returns, they don’t talk much over meals or chores, and he only offers tentative smiles between showering and sleeping.

“I didn’t know you played,” Ky pipes up as he finishes a lamb skewer.

Sol shrugs, swallowing the rest of a slider. “It’s been a while.”

“You’re very good though,” Ky continues before they’re interrupted by a suggestion to play Charades.

They split off into roughly equal teams and start. It’s not long before Ky is laughing heartily at the attempts to act out the words, leaning into his side, and perhaps this bout of amnesia is a blessing — he’s never seen Ky so happy, so at ease. Kliff mentioned before that the boy’s short life has been nothing but tragedy and responsibility, that Ky might have turned to God for hope and solace, but his devout religiosity seems to have brought him heavier burden.

“A big ball?” someone nearby pipes up as their teammate starts miming.

The actor’s expression seems to say, “Something like that,” and he waves his arms expansively around them before repeating the mime.

“The Earth?” Ky guesses.

The guy nods, signals for him to keep going — he’s close.

“The world?” tries one of the ladies.

A thumbs up — she’s right. The man then mimes running, hands in the air.

“Running?” asks a boy in the front row — negative. “Marathon?” his dad tries — still no.

Next, the actor attempts waving his hands again, and it’s a few tries before Sol recognizes “Music conductor.” Immediately, the man turns to him, brings the tips of his fingers together, then opens his hands like he smoothing out a tablecloth. When Sol doesn’t answer, he repeats the motion.

“Silence?” Ky asks — again, ‘something like that, keep going.’

“Finish?” guesses a girl with copper hair — the guy nods excitedly at her and signals to keep going.

“The end?” Back to the boy in front, more enthusiastic nodding.

“Ten, nine, eight—” The other team starts counting down their last ten seconds.

“The end of the world?” The boy’s mother now.

The actor nods, then brings his hands together before holding up one finger.

“Four, three—”

“Oh, apocalypse?” Ky realizes.

“Yes!!! Way to go, Ky! Two seconds! _Two_ seconds!!!” The man claps, adding to their points tally before dropping back into his seat as the rest of their team cheers.

“Ah, why’d you guys have to pick such depressing words?” the earlier redhead complains loudly.

“What do you mean, depressing?” retorts her brother on the other team. “It’s an important concept! The possibility really makes you evaluate what matters.”

“Ugh, there he goes, trying to sound deep.” She rolls her brown eyes, turning to the blonde beside her.

“Oh yeah? Well, what would you do if the world’s gonna end tomorrow?”

“Oh, that’s easy. I’d get us all together for early Christmas dinner, so we could have the best dinner _and_ open our presents before the world ends.”

Sol goes to grab a beer and a few more skewers off the grill as people chime in with their answers — he hates this pointless discussion.

“Well, do we know why the world is ending tomorrow?” Ky asks suddenly.

There’s a pause, then the girl’s friend goes, “Uh… You know that’s not the point, right?”

“Well, yes, but…” Ky shakes his head, looking down at his hands. “If I know why the world’s ending, then maybe there’s something I could do about it. If I could just stop it, then we’d all have more than one day to do everything else, so I’d spend my last day trying my best to stop the end of the world.”

A murmur seems to run through the crowd — quite a few of them think Ky makes a lot of sense. Sol pops the cap off his beer and takes a long swig, scoffing silently. Trust Ky to inspire people still, even here without his memories.

Then the brother says, “All right, but say you can’t. Say it’s inevitable. What will you do then?”

For several moments, Ky looks pensive, then he smiles wryly and answers, “I’d spend the day with the person I love and make sure I tell them everything I ever wanted to say to them.”

“Oh, how romantic!” coos a lady, and Sol downs the rest of the bottle as sounds of agreement rise.

“And on that note…”

One of the guitar players starts strumming a mellow country tune, and Sol counts it his cue to leave — it shouldn’t be so recognizable after all these decades. Heck, Sol’s amazed anyone still remembers it — its popularity was short-lived even back in the day. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees people break off into couples for a slow dance as he walks briskly towards the apartment. It’s quite some distance before he can’t hear Aria’s favourite song anymore, some wistful ballad about dying young — the fucking jinxed irony.

Just then, there are running footsteps behind, and he recognizes Ky’s aura well before the boy catches up. “Not your scene?” the other asks, slowing to a walk beside him.

He grunts noncommittally. The chicken skewer leaves a bitter aftertaste — perhaps it’s a tad burnt.

“Mine neither. Couple’s dance sessions are awkward when you d— have two left feet like me. They uh… tried to teach me to dance earlier.”

“I saw. It was awful.” A bit surprising, considering how graceful Ky is with a sword in hand.

Ky laughs, embarrassed. “Yeah. Guess I should be glad we’re not birds.”

The awkwardness is back, and Sol is glad to reach the apartment. He uses the shower first as Ky makes tea. Then he grabs a smoke and checks on the pets. The birds, Dee and Ozzy, flew off yesterday, fully healed. Lenny, the first kitten, isn’t limping anymore. Francie and Yoko still have a ways to go. Done, he drops the butt in the ashtray hooked to the railing and heads back inside, taking a sip of apple tea from the mug on the nightstand before lying down. Truth be told, he's itching for a fight. Peace is a good thing, of course, but it leaves him restless, as if the monster inside needs to be fed — he hates it.

Ky exits the bathroom then, switches the lights off and joins him in bed. As usual, Ky snuggles close and leans up to kiss him goodnight, but this time, he brushes his lips tenderly against Sol’s instead.

“No?" he sighs when Sol doesn’t react.

"...you'll regret it when you remember."

"Heh." He rolls onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. “How miserable I must be to regret loving someone who sincerely cares for me with all my heart."

"Hmph." Sol shakes his head. "You've always been very good at seeing only what you want to see."

"Why are you here, Sol?" His voice is thick with emotion. "Why didn't you just take me back to the Sacred Order? I know we're Holy Knights."

"What, so you can volunteer to go to battle like the idiot crusader you are?"

Ky turns back to him, shifting closer. "So you do care. Then what do my memories matter if the feelings I have now are real?" Ky's always been naive — Sol hates it.

He groans. "Ky, you're thirteen, and I'm the only person you properly know right now. 'Real' isn't the word I'd go for. Try again."

"Don't make my age the issue,” Ky retorts sharply. “I’m old enough to lead people into war."

"Oh, don't be a brat, Ky.” Sol sits up, angrier than he should be. “Hell, let’s go back to talking with our swords 'cause you're a lot better company that way."

"You know what? You're right.” Ky sits up as well and slides off the bed. “You’re right. Let’s fight.” He goes to the cupboard and pulls out their weapons Sol stashed there with their Order uniforms, shoving the Junkyard Dog at Sol before heading towards the door. “Maybe it’ll trigger my memories, then I can stop having these ridiculous feelings.”

Sol follows him into the woods nearby. “You ready for this?” he asks as they enter the clearing.

Ky turns, smile bitter. “I see. Even when we fight, you don’t take me seriously.” He holds his sword at the ready, but doesn’t take his usual stance — he doesn’t remember it.

“Watch yourself, kid. Come at me with everything you’ve got.”

“Heh. That’s my line!!”

Ky rushes towards him and attacks. He parries and counters with a kick that Ky evades. They continue to trade blows, Ky moving on instinct, but as the duel continues, his skills seem to come back to him — he grows faster and more graceful and starts bolstering his attacks with magic. Sol is even starting to have fun. It’s always Ky who challenges him to spar, and he humours the boy because Ky’s good for a human, special — his unusual aptitude for both magic and swordsmanship makes him one in a million. But Ky always behaves like he has something to prove, like he even resents Sol helping him on the front lines, so it’s overly tempting to put the boy in his place.

"How long are you going to be like this?" Ky demands suddenly, breathless as he leaps back from a Crescent Slash. He guards against the next attack, slumps when it doesn't come. “Whether we are talking or fighting, you put a gulf between us I can’t reach across, and your heart’s not in it.”

Sol drives the Junkyard Dog into the ground with a sigh — he seems to have a knack for picking up persistent and opinionated prodigies. “By put my heart in it, do you mean try to kill you?” He walks over to take Ky by the elbow and lift him to his feet. “Shoulda just told me not to bother with the hospital.”

Ky shakes his head, leaning into him. “I’m not talking about power. I’m not even saying you should feel the same. I just wish you’d stop pushing me away by pretending to be cold and antagonistic."

The Gear cracks up, bitterly amused.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’ve got it wrong, kid. This is what takes effort, resisting the urge to snap you in two.”

Again, Ky shakes his head. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. There's a part of me that wants to turn everything to ash. You just haven’t seen it, and we’d best keep it that way.”

"Stop telling me what to think or how to react." Ky drops his sword, reaching up to cup Sol's cheek. "You helped me despite that, despite your dislike." He meets Sol's gaze, tracing a strong cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. "I believe in that side of you, so I'm not running from this."

This blind trust feels familiar, and the truth is "I don't dislike you, boy." Ky can be aggravating, yes, but Sol doesn't dislike him per se. That's the problem — if he looks deep enough, he thinks he’ll miss Ky when he’s gone. However talented, Ky’s still human, and Sol's already almost killed him once.

“What are you afraid of?” comes the whispered question — sometimes, they’re too perceptive, Ky and Aria both, too close to the truth they don’t really want to see. "Why do you insist on being alone?" It's been a long time, and Sol wonders if it's worth it, if all it leads to is tragedy and regret. He tries not to analyse it too hard.

“In the end,” Ky continues, only a hair’s breadth away now. “I think it’s what I didn’t do that I’ll regret most.”

“Stubborn idiot,” Sol mutters as their lips touch, and he kisses the other this time, muffling a throaty moan as blue eyes flutter shut. Ky clings to him, twining their tongues and drawing him in, and he feels so fragile in Sol’s arms. When they part, breathless, he looks entirely too young for the slightly debauched wet lips, flushed skin and blown pupils. “Ky—”

“No.” Slender arms, stronger than they look, wind tightly around Sol as Ky buries his face in a broad chest. “Hold me,” he mumbles, pressing close — the kid is hard as nails between them, and he’s probably never been so turned on before, least of all from just a kiss. “Don’t walk away.”

“Heh.” Sol keeps the embrace chaste, keeps his arms wrapped tightly around the boy. “Before, you would have called this immoral.”

“Yes,” Ky agrees, shifting in an effort to get more friction or more comfortable, whichever he can. “So I don’t want to remember.” His eyes are earnest as he trails kisses up Sol's jaw.

Sol shakes his head. “Don’t be irresponsible. You can't save the world as you are."

"If I could save the world," Ky says softly, serious now, "will you be waiting beyond that?"

The Gear scoffs. “Even if you can't, and the world falls to ruin, I'll be standing in the ashes."

"Then it's fine." Ky kisses him, guiding his hand between them. “I won't forget this feeling."

 _I've twisted you,_ he thinks as he obliges. Ky gasps and thrusts into his hand, moans his name as orgasm hits, and he holds the boy tightly through the aftershocks.

Just then, there’s a loud crash from the other side of town. Sol can sense it — it’s a Gear.

“Take cover,” he says, setting Ky down before grabbing the Junkyard Dog and running towards the rising dust, dodging fleeing civilians. He quickly reaches the crash site — it’s a Large, a Toxic and some small Normals. “Rock It!”

He surges forward to sink a flaming punch into the nearest small one, and it flies into its friends. One of them turns out to be Flying — it spreads iridescent wings to right itself midair and fine glitter seems to scatter through the air.

 _Shit, diamond dust._ "Storm Viper!" The flaming knee jab takes him right into the beast, and he knocks it down with an overhead slash. As the Large cyclops-like one lumbers towards him, he zips underneath with "Gun Blaze!" before turning on the nearby Toxic with Blockhead Buster and leaping into the air to hit it with Bandit Revolver. His chest hurts — he probably inhaled some diamond dust. He needs to take out the Toxic before it can release any miasma.

Blocking an attack from one of the smaller Gears, he takes a swipe at a few and turns to counter the Large Gear’s overhead attack with another Storm Viper, launching into a flurry of mid air attacks before cleaving through its core with his blade. As he lands—

"Sol!" A lightning projectile slams into the small Gear trying to sneak up on him, and he slices through its torso as he whirls on Ky.

"Get back! There's diamond dust!"

Obediently, Ky stops running towards him, but it’s too late — the Toxic has spotted him.

“Savage Fang!” He sends the pillars of flame forth and barrels after them into the anteater-like creature, but not before it lets loose a volley of barbs he’s pretty sure are poisoned. “Ky!!”

He’s relieved to see Ky dodge back and sideways out of range to quickly dispatch another small one, and he quickly finishes the rest.

Still, “I told you to take cover,” he chides as he approaches.

“I’m a Holy Knight too. How could I run like a civilian when I can fight?” Same old Ky. “More importantly, you mentioned diamond dust. Are you all right?”

“I got out of range in time, and there was wind,” he lies.

“I’m glad.” Ky takes his hand to lead him back and flinches on the second step, makes a sound of pain.

“Tch.” Sol shifts Ky’s blue trackpants out of the way to see the shallow nick near the boy’s left ankle. “You always miss one,” he grouses to mask his concern as he lifts Ky into his arms.

“If this is how it ends, I’ll have to keep missing,” Ky teases, curling into him as he runs back towards the hospital. “This feels kinda familiar… nngh!” The boy falls limp in his arms then — blacked out from the poison shock, most likely.

Sol runs faster.

-+-+-+-+-+-

Fortunately, the venom is a type they’ve seen before, so it’s quick business to administer the antidote and clean the wound. Sol’s glad it happened in town, near the hospital. Gear toxins act quickly, so even victims of those with known antidotes die long before they can receive any medical attention.

Ky wakes shortly after they move him to a ward to rest, and the conflicted look in blue eyes when Sol enters is the only clue he needs.

“Told you you’d regret it,” he says, leaning against the door as Ky sits up.

The other shakes his head and opens his mouth to say something when his eyes suddenly widen. “H—how? We—” He grips his head in his hands. “You shouldn’t have survived… it can’t be possible.”

 _Ah, the storm’s come early._ He longs for a cigarette, but even he will refrain in a hospital.

“No human could have— Are you a Noble One?”

Sol laughs — completely the wrong conclusion. “Give it up, boy. Just close your eyes.”

“How can it be…? Unless—" He clamps a hand over his mouth to silence his gasp, and the Gear is certain the correct answer has crossed his mind. "But no, that's—"

Sol opens the door to leave. Even if Ky hasn't figured it out, he could demand an inquisition when they return, which puts the prototype Gear back at square one. It’s a little earlier than he planned, but to be honest, he’s already tired of the Order and its bureaucratic religious ways. It's not like they have the information he needs either.

“Sol, wait."

He pauses just long enough to say, "Some knights will be here soon. You should report back in."

“What? Sol, you’re— I c— Wait!”

But by the time Ky jumps out of the cot and rushes to the door to throw it open, Sol is already gone.

-+-+-+-+-+-

Ky stares up at the light tan façade of the Hotel Ares — it looks, at once, like something out of a bygone age and a near future. So much of Paris has been destroyed and rebuilt throughout the Crusades that the little clusters of prewar buildings left are national treasures. Yet, as if in homage to better days, most of the rebuilding efforts have followed a somewhat medieval aesthetic, so the old quarters ironically look more modern than the new.

He looks back down at the little piece of paper he’d copied the message on — he’s quite sure it’s the right place. “The seeker of justice should offer the holy flame at the war god’s house,” it reads and is signed “Francie, Lenny, Ozzy, Yoko and Dee.” The transmission was encrypted, anonymous and untraceable, but no one else could have known to use their pets’ names.

Once he'd deciphered the message, he sought out his predecessor for advice. Given his suspicions and Sol's status as a deserter, how could he simply hand over the Order's Sacred Treasure? Yet Master Kliff not only said he'd always planned to give Sol the Fireseal, he also confirmed Ky’s suspicions. Sol once went by the name of Frederick and saved Kliff from a Gear attack when Kliff was but a young boy. It's clear Sol isn't human, but... "You would have decided the same without this old man's advice, son," Kliff said as they finished their tea. "You already know the truth in your heart."

He nods and smiles at the receptionist as he passes, and she returns the greeting, but that's all — without the uniform, in jeans and carrying a sports equipment bag, he looks too young to be recognized as the Commander for most people. As he heads further in towards the lift, he senses Sol's presence and follows it to a room on the fourth floor. For a fleeting moment, he's alarmed to find the door open, but then he spots the other, sitting on the windowsill and smoking a cigarette — same as always. Irritation wars with longing, and Ky's not sure which prevails as he locks the door behind him, but he tells himself it doesn't matter — he's here on business.

There's a piece of paper on the bed between them, and as he sets the bag down, he sees there are coordinates scrawled on it. Sol doesn't even turn as he pockets it, and it hurts so much, he's angry with himself. He throws a Stun Edge at the other in frustration.

“And you call me rude," Sol murmurs as the lightning fizzles out against a barrier.

“One rude greeting begets another," he replies tersely. “As it were, I should arrest you, deserter."

Sol scoffs, flicking his cigarette butt out the window. “You could try."

And Ky's tempted, he really is — fighting is easier than talking with Sol, but "I'm not destroying a national heritage site over the likes of you."

Sol chuckles as he turns, and Ky almost wishes he didn't. “To think, for all of a month, you were actually decent company."

Ky wants to say "That's low," but that'd be admitting too much, so instead he asks, "Not going to check?"

"I can sense it, and you're not the type that can pull a ruse, Ky. I trust you."

"Not enough." It's out of his mouth before he can stop his bitterness, and he regrets it instantly although Sol says nothing. And now, he can’t leave that without context. “I swore I'd repay at least that sentiment. How could you think I'd betray you?"

The Gear stands, goes to the mini fridge to grab himself a beer and Ky a bottle of water. "In my shoes, would you have waited to find out?" He lobs the bottle towards Ky, who catches it and sighs.

Sitting on the bed, he stares down at his hands. “Do you remember when we first met?"

"You sure you wanna go there, kid?" Sol sits beside him on the bed and takes a swig of his beer.

"Don't," he pleads softly. “I remember... Master Kliff introduced you as the famous bounty hunter and assigned you to my Squad as a Special striker. I had high expectations. But you wouldn't take orders, and you wouldn't work with anyone else. I was frustrated. Out on the field where we live and die together, if you do your own thing, it gets people killed — I know better than anyone."

"Well, I know better than anyone that being around _me_ gets people killed."

"No." Ky shakes his head, firm. "You've saved more people than I could know. But let me finish. Always, I asked myself if maybe I'm the problem. Maybe you can't accept me as a leader, so I should prove myself. To my mounting frustration, I never could." He downs half his water.

"But I remember, when the Gears levelled Shanghai, watching you rush into an incoming wave to buy time for a few civilian families to escape, and I thought to myself, at least your heart is in the right place — I can endure even your attitude problem. Recently, I realized that I know so little about the comrades around me even now, yet I understood so much about you so soon." He smiles wistfully. "Perhaps, when we fight, we learn more about each other and ourselves than if we get along."

Finishing his water, he tosses the bottle into the bin. "I'm... glad it was you, and if I had to choose one person to be stuck alone in hostile territory with, there's no one else I'd rather have, but... if we had been in Rome instead of waiting for my recovery in Pittsfield, perhaps all those people could have been saved."

A Megadeath attacked Rome two weeks after they fell, and too few civilians evacuated in time. Almost everything was decimated. Even the Vatican no longer exists.

“Don't be such a martyr, Ky," the other growls, disposing of his empty beer bottle. "Everything isn't always about you."

Ky chuckles wryly. "Sometimes, what I want to hear isn't really what I want to hear, Sol, especially from you." And now that he's gotten this far, he knows he should stop. Knowing that it is wrong and forbidden, these three years, he's only thought about wanting more. But he could stop at just a sinful fantasy. He _should_ stop, and yet— "Indignation was easier, safe. If I focused on the things I didn't like, I could stop thinking about the things I did. Fighting was the only way I could allow myself to be close."

"Shut up." It's a warning.

He nods — he really should , but— “I just mean to say it was all real. I don't want you to think I was just an unseemly child. I—"

Sol’s fingertips trail down his jawline to tilt his chin up, those mismatched eyes look just like they did that night in the forest, and Ky wants; he _wants_ , God forgive him. He hates his heart's weakness.

“I'm not thirteen anymore," he whispers, leaning closer.

“And what of your principles?" Sol asks, breath warm as it ghosts over his lips.

He takes a deep breath, exhales it shakily. “I... I agonised over this. I prayed. And I know—" He squeezes his eyes shut. "But when I think that it’ll never be like that again, I can't sleep. It's worse than guilt. If I'm honest with myself, the only thing I regretted was letting you walk away. And I don't know — could sincere love really be so wrong?" He grips his head, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I can't repent, I'd be lying to anyone else, and I can't bear the thought of you alone or with another, so I don't kn—nngh..."

They're kissing now, Sol is holding him close, and they're falling to the bed together. He's missed the _warmth_ that suffuses his being, and he's reluctant when they part for air.

“After we attack Justice, will I see you again?"

Atop him, their noses touching, "Even if the world falls to ruin, I'll be standing in the ashes. Will you?"

The question fills him with a desperate urgency even as he shakes his head emphatically. “I won't let the world fall to ruin." He works on the fastenings of Sol's clothes. “We are the hope of mankind, and we will emerge victorious. On my life, I swear it."

Sol's hands slide under his dress shirt to touch bare skin then, and he doesn't fight the desire. He tugs at Sol's top, and the other shrugs it off, shucking the rest too as he removes his own clothing. And it's not like they've never seen each other nude before, but—

"You're blushing." The tone is warm, teasing, as Sol crawls back to his side. “Where's the brazen thirteen-year-old that demanded I accept his advances?"

Ky blanches, and Sol laughs.

“I coulda socked you in the jaw."

"Ugh, don't make fun of me... ah."

Sol is already mouthing his way down the side of Ky’s neck, and the jolt of pleasure when his tongue laps at a nipple comes as a surprise. It's not somewhere Ky imagined would be sensitive, but then Sol is worrying it with teeth and tongue, rolling the other nub between his fingers, and Ky is moaning, toes curling in the bedspread as he writhes. The other lets out a low growl, and he can feel Sol, skin hot on his and fine hair soft. He's relieved — Sol's not merely indulging his selfishness this time.

The other switches nipples, and his knee rubs into Sol's groin as he arches off the bed. He's touched himself since then, alone with his fantasies, but he never thought he could already be so close from just this. He can barely bite back a whimper as Sol laps up the precum pooled in his navel, holding his breath as a warm, wet tongue follows a golden trail down, and—

Sol doesn't even touch him.

A hot breath and he's muffling a sharp cry with his forearm as his vision whites out, and only then does Sol take him into his mouth. Ky's eyes roll back in his head as he's sucked through his orgasm, and God, he doesn't know how to stop this. He's trembling as he comes down, and he only wants more.

He reaches out to touch, and Sol obliges, lets him run his hands over dense muscle and pepper tanned skin with kisses. Lower, the spicy, musky scent of Sol is almost overpowering, but he wants; he wants. He takes the base in his hands and strokes, closes his lips around the tip and hollows his cheeks. He has only the vaguest idea what he’s doing, but Sol gasping his name is the only encouragement he needs. It's salty and bitter and something else he can't define, and he wonders if it's the same for him too. As if reading his mind, Sol hauls him up for a kiss, and it's different — he can't explain.

“Shoulda known you'd be a screamer," Sol teases when they part.

"Stop making fun of m— oof."

Sol flips him over, laces their fingers, and Ky gasps as Sol's erection slots between the cheeks of his arse. Surprise hasn't worn off when Sol starts moving, rocking into that crevice, and the mewl that rises in his throat is unexpected as well — the friction feels good and, when Sol spills with a muffled groan, the wetness too. He's aroused again, and he misses the contact when Sol rolls off him. But then a finger strokes into that crack, and that desperate little sound comes unbidden again as Sol presses his lips into the pulse point behind Ky’s ear.

"Th—that's—"

He feels dirty even thinking of touching it, but every circle of Sol's fingertip around it makes him throb with need. He hides his face, but can't silence the wanton sounds he's making, can't help lifting his hips reflexively for more. He almost comes when Sol presses in lightly, and he can't deny he wants more of this filthy pleasure. Sol is mouthing his way down Ky's spine as he teases that place, and it's only when Sol doesn't stop at the small of his back that Ky realizes with horror—

"S—Sol? N— ahhnn!"

Sol's _kissing_ it, his _tongue_ is inside, and somewhere between shocked horror and self-disgust, Ky screams into the pillow as orgasm hits with explosive intensity.

He feels heavy as the aftershocks abate, strung out from pleasure and hypersensitive, but Sol hasn't stopped, and even now, the gentle licking feels embarrassingly good. It’s clear Sol doesn’t think this perverse, and by the time Sol asks “Inside?” huskily, he’s too far gone to say anything but, “Yes. Please. Anything.”

“It’ll hurt.” He watches as Sol grabs one of the fancy little bottles on the nightstand.

“Mm, take the edge off.” It smells of sweet flowers suddenly — he’s guessing it’s lotion.

Then the other’s fingers are back, slick as they slide in, and Sol’s right — it hurts like he’s being split open. “Relax.” He does, but the pain doesn’t stop. It’s tinged with pleasure though, right at the edge of sensation, and Sol’s embrace is warm. In Sol’s arms like this, it feels like he can endure anything, like he’s already seen miracles. He turns to kiss the other as the pain dulls, to run a hand through long brown hair, then pleasure sparks inside, and Sol smirks as he cries out. The pain intensifies, but the livewire pleasure all but blocks it out. Then Sol shifts, and it finally dawns on Ky.

“Like this.” He rolls onto his back. “Can we…?”

Sol answers by lifting his knees onto broad shoulders and sliding in — Ky arches off the bed in mixed pain and pleasure, but then they’re face to face, he finds fierce desire and affection in mismatched eyes, and it’s all he needs. It feels vulnerable like this, intimate, like they’ve finally crossed that gulf Sol always puts between them. He smiles, drawing Sol closer.

Maybe Hell is a place they can share — this feels like where they were always meant to be.

-+-+-+-+-+-

The dust is dry carried on the hot breeze, and all around, there are only crumbling ruins. I-No has been walking for over an hour now, and there are no signs of life. Hell, she hasn't even found water.

Suddenly, she senses a distortion and turns. "About damn time."

The portal opens, and That Man steps out. "You!" he cries in anguish. “What have you done?!"

"Oops, guess I fucked up."

That Man paces, anxious. “What was it? What did you do?"

In all honesty, she's already tired. "The Flame of Corruption attacked me, we fought, and Ky Kiske fell off the airship."

He blanches.

"So. You gonna tell me what I missed?”

That Man sighs, sitting on the remains of a pillar, and waves at the surrounding wasteland. “This is all that's left — nothing. Without Ky Kiske at her side, the Child of Light and Darkness was quickly sublimated by Valentine, and there was no time even to temper the 'merciless Apocalypse' that followed. I survived by going into the Backyard, as did the few others that can, but... it should never have come to this. Everything I have done, I did to prevent this end, and yet... The fate of a single Gear, a single man... How fragile is our future," he laments, shaking his head.

I-No sighs. Every time, she regrets this job a little more. “Stop,” she says before he can continue talking. “I get it. I’m going.” She drops into a portal.


	3. Chapter 3

### Timeline 3: Sometimes When We Touch

“Hm? Now, let’s see… Where are we this time?” I-No wonders aloud as she steps out into bright sunshine and the wind in her hair. A lesser hat would have flown off her head, but this trusty girl is anything but ordinary.

She’s on the deck of another airship — by the looks of it, a large Zeppian one currently engaged in combat over what looks to be somewhere in the Middle East this time. The fleet is firing at a few Flying Gears. As she watches, one of the Gears breaks formation and veers towards the ground where a larger-scale land battle is taking place with the knights of the Sacred Order.

She’s not sure what she’s here to change, but she’s pretty sure it won’t be on this Zeppian airship.

 _Guess that's my quickest ticket down._ She dashes forward, then leaps off the airship towards it. A few boosts forward with magic, and she's landing easily upon the scaly avian. Sensing her on it's back, the Gear immediately tries to shake her off, but it’s too slow. She drives Marlene into it and secures her hold with guitar strings. It drops, screaming in pain, but still glides towards the ground. It plans to crash into enemy forces, she realizes, the last attack of a doomed creature that should never have been born.

I-No isn’t one for pity, only for changing the path of suffering. With a bit of effort, she sends the Gear crashing into a large group of its friends. She has to leap off to escape the impact and kill a few more Large Gears to escape, but it’s enough to turn the tide of battle.

That day, humans won instead of lost the Battle of Jordan 2165 and just barely held the city of Amman.

-+-+-+-+-+-

“Hey, Tidus, how about that one?”

Ivan points at a pretty blond boy staring through the glass window into a weapons shop as he leads a boy and a girl towards their airship. War is good for business — so many orphans everywhere just waiting for a place to go, a role to play. They’d picked up quite a few kids at every stop coming down through the Middle East and back up to Europe — it’s a good haul. They’d been worried when the Battle of Jordan started, but it turns out they worried for nothing — secure airspace all the way.

Tidus approaches the boy. “Tu veux acheter une épée?” he tries. They’re in Paris, after all. [1]

The kid turns. With big blue eyes, sweet features and soft golden hair, he really is a pretty child — he’ll be popular with the customers. “Oui,” he says — good voice too. “Je veux devenir une chevalier.” [2]

“Ah, c’est merveilleux!” Tidus ruffles blond hair gently and holds out his hand. “Alors, si tu me suis, tu peux bientôt acheter des épées. Bon?” [3]

Blue eyes look from his hand to the swords in the display and back. A small hand takes his. “Okay.”

-+-+-+-+-+-

Sol pours himself another shot of bourbon and downs it.

In the aftermath of battle, when the soldiers and the volunteers have come and gone, the only thing left is emptiness. Some trawl the streets, looking to salvage what they can. Some cling on to the vestiges of what was lost. Others find solace in the higher powers. Many end up here, drowning their memories and sorrows, or looking for a warm body to fill the space.

Sometimes he thinks about it too — even if he doesn’t go looking, it's easy enough with people like that man at the other end of the bar.

“—of your type," he's saying to another, a middle class sort in his thirties. “I promise you'll like him."

The other nurses his beer, leaning back to scrutinise the man. "The last time you said that, Ivan, your kid nearly clawed my face off."

Sol’s hand briefly pauses in pouring the next shot. Kid. _Children._ They're selling children.

"No, no, not to worry! This one will be good," the one called Ivan coos reassuringly over the ambient rock music. "We've given him a special something. He'll want to please you."

They're drugging and selling children. And they call Gears monsters. He's loathe to get involved — this doesn't involve Gears. But as Ivan and his better dressed customer rise to leave the bar, the whisky aftertaste sours in his mouth.

He swears, grabs his sword and tosses the necessary World Dollars on the table before heading out after them.

-+-+-+-+-+-

The kid in question is some wisp of a teen in a shift that leaves little to the imagination. Ivan left him in a badly decorated room of a nondescript hotel nearby, and he sits up a little where he is waiting on the bed as Sol walks in using the keycard he found on the pimp’s body and locks the door behind him. Shoulder-length blond hair frames a flushed face with dilated blue eyes, and Sol can see the allure, the androgynous beauty.

“Ivan brought you?” the boy asks slowly, a little slurred.

“No.” Sol moves closer to avoid speaking louder. “You won’t have to worry about Ivan or your customer anymore.”

The kid flops back in palpable relief, breathing “Dieu soit loué,” and Sol doesn’t know if the implications have really sunk in. He shouldn’t be surprised the child believes him without question — the trusting sort are the easiest to trick. [4]

He sits down on the bed because the chairs are on the other side of the room. “What’s your name?”

The boy sits up and crawls over. “My name is Ky.” Then he takes Sol’s face in his hands, and they’re kissing. “Thank you,” he murmurs between kisses. “Thank you so much.”

It’s easy to kiss back, to taste the chemical residue on soft lips. Sol takes slim shoulders and holds the teen at arm’s length. “Watch it, boy. If you do that, people will think you _want_ customers.”

“Ah…” Blue eyes drop to the ugly bedspread covering him to the waist. “That’s why they teach us this is the proper way to show gratitude.”

He has to wonder now how else these children have been miseducated. “Are there many of you?”

Ky lies back down, fidgeting restlessly. “Between twenty to thirty, usually. Some of us get bought off, then Ivan, Naha and Tidus pick new kids up every time we stop to resupply the airship.”

“Do you know where the airship is?”

“Yes. I can take you there.”

Whatever drug they used doesn’t seem to have interfered with the boy’s cognitive ability, but fair skin is covered in a sheen of perspiration, and Ky twitches intermittently.

 _”He’ll want to please you,”_ Sol remembers Ivan saying.

Sol stands, scratches his head — this is a pain. “You want to, don’t you?” His pointed gaze makes his meaning clear.

Ky bites his lip, hesitates — he looks slightly afraid, taken aback. “No,” he answers carefully at last. “It’s the drugs.” A pause. “I can’t resist. Just please don’t hurt me.”

“What? No.” Sol grimaces. “You’re how old again?”

“Eleven.”

“Yeah, hell no. You’re eleven and drugged out of your mind. Deal with it, kid. I’m gonna take a shower.” He makes a beeline for the bathroom and locks the door behind him.

Ky relaxes into the pillows and smiles — he’d hate to have been mistaken twice.

-+-+-+-+-+-

The airship Ky leads him to is pretty big, easily with rooms for fifty. When they reach the door, there’s a tanned man with messy copper hair sharing a smoke with a thinner dark-skinned one sitting on the steps. They’re dressed in colourful bermudas and plain T-shirts. They stand as Sol and Ky approach.

“Where’s Ivan?” The one on the steps pushes his ponytail of black braids over his shoulder.

Sol shrugs. “Didn’t see him around when we were done.”

Orange head —he’s guessing Tidus— scoffs. “Must’ve been picking up some other kid.”

 _Great._ “The kid says he’s for sale, so I came to ask how much.”

“Him?” The nearest one, Naha, gives Ky a good onceover. “A hundred grand.”

“Heh.” Out of the corner of his eye, Sol catches Ky’s flinch. “And here I thought bounty hunting was good money.”

“It is,” Tidus agrees, shouldering his broadsword. “Clean. These you gotta clothe, feed and train.”

“Ky here is one of our best,” Naha adds, adjusting his scimitars. “Popular.”

Beside him, Ky shrinks away, and Sol reaches for his own blade. “I'd tell you to scram, but you're worse than Gears."

"You think?" Tidus leaps off the stairs, takes a stance beside Naha. “Some of these kids were dying when we took them in."

Naha unsheathes and readies the scimitars. "We let them work for room and board. Should we have left them to die?"

Sol shakes his head. “Can't save you now. Rock It!!"

He's closed the distance between them before they can blink, and his fiery blow sends Naha flying. Tidus falls to "Bandit Revolver!" as he glances back, but tries unsuccessfully to land a hit as Naha gets back on his feet. Sol parries easily as Naha darts forward to attack and blocks a few slashes before swinging his sword at both men. As they leap back out of the way, he dashes forward, grabs Tidus and slams him into Naha. The crunch of bones beneath his hands and the spurt of blood when he cuts their heads off is indescribably satisfying, and he nearly hits Ky in reflex when the boy takes his hand.

“Don’t sneak up on people, kid. You’ll get yourself hurt.”

“Sorry. Let’s get the others.”

They board the airship. Sol seeks out the men’s offices while Ky lets all the children out of their rooms. The oldest is a fifteen-year-old brunette with haunted grey eyes, and the youngest looks to be a clueless six-year-old redhead. Some of the younger kids have bruises on their arms and legs, probably under their clothes too. In the offices, he found several easily broken locked boxes, and between the three men, there’s several million World Dollars.

“What will you do with us?” Ky asks when they’re all gathered on the deck.

Honestly, Sol hasn’t thought that far ahead. “Orphanages, I expect," he decides. “Unless anyone has a place to go. They won’t have any complaints with these donations.”

No one speaks up, so he has them pack what little they have. There are twenty-six including Ky and Sephy, the oldest girl. It takes a bit of study, but eventually, Sol figures out how to get the airship up in the air and on autopilot to Torioria. Some of the kids clearly have magic potential, Ky included. It’s best to leave them where they will be welcomed when their talents awaken.

The truth is though, looking at Sephy in her dismal, listless silence, Sol doesn't think an orphanage will be good for her. Fortunately, Sephy being a girl, he knows someplace that might. It doesn't take long before they're landing in the outskirts of Torioria, and the Mayship is already there. Sol slips two hundred thousand World Dollars into her bag as he points her in the right direction, offers Johnny a lazy wave and lets the girls welcome Sephy as he leads the rest of the children to the orphanage. The caretakers are stunned to see so many, but are sympathetic when they hear the story from Ky.

There's two hundred thousand left when he's given three million World Dollars to the orphanage to help with the upkeep of the new and existing residents.

“They said you were popular." He presses the cash into Ky's hands with a shrug. “Bet you made them at least double your purchase value."

Ky's fingers close tightly around the bills, but he seems too ashamed to even look up. He's seen that look before, and it wasn't even her fault she was dying of a sexually transmitted disease.

"Ugh, don't make that face." Sol scratches his head, turning to walk away — the last thing he needs is this déjà vu. “I'm just saying you earned it."

"Ah, w—wait!"

Ky runs right into him when he stops. “Hn?"

"Please, you're strong. Will you teach me to fight?" Blue eyes are earnest, hopeful. "Once, I wanted to be a knight."

"You can still go to the Order."

"But I see I can learn much from you. Please." Ky takes his hand, folds his fingers over the wad of money. "You can have all of this."

Sol frowns. A century and a half has given him an eye for terrible ideas, and he _knows_ this is one — it's dangerous around him. “I'm a bounty hunter. I hunt Gears on my own. You're not gonna last out there, boy."

Ky shakes his head. “Then I will not last in the Sacred Order either. Please." He kneels, head bowed. “Take me with you and teach me."

"Agh, no.” Sol buries his face in his hands. “Yeesh, get up already."

"No. Not till you agree. Please, I—I’ll do anything, even—" 

But _of course_ this would be the tack of choice. “Damn it, kid,” he groans, bodily hauling the teen to his feet. “You'd better earn your keep."

Blue eyes widen.

He drops the boy, stalking off. “You're carrying all the luggage."

"Ah, y—yes!"

Ky runs happily after him.

-+-+-+-+-+-

When he'd first noticed Ky's magic potential, Sol didn't realise how vast it was — Ky has an almost superhuman talent for magic. He practices as they travel in search of Sol’s next bounty, and he’s had little difficulty with all the elements. Sol doesn’t tell him most humans can only use one element if they can use magic at all. The only problem is—

Sol doesn't know how long and how often the traffickers have been drugging Ky for work, but the withdrawal starts only two days in — Ky starts sniffling and loses his appetite. It doesn't take a genius, but Ky insists he's fine, so Sol just buys him a box of tissues. The next day, Ky has started scratching till his skin is red and raw like he has an invisible rash all over, but they keep going because Ky refuses to stop. By the time they reach the next town and find a room for the night, Ky has the jitters and cold sweat. He goes straight to bed, but Sol returns from dinner with turkey noodle soup to the sound of retching from the bathroom. He sets the container of still warm soup down on the nightstand and runs a hand through his hair — he's not prepared to deal with this.

The teen staggers out of the bathroom and smiles weakly as he moves towards the bed. He makes it halfway before his knees buckle, and Sol reaches him before his head hits the floor.

“Told you to eat," Sol grumbles — the kid's been nibbling at his food since the symptoms started. "Don't give yourself a concussion now."

“Sorry," he mumbles as Sol carries him to his bed. "I'll be fine, I promise."

He's still shivering, so Sol wraps him in the blankets and props him up with the pillows before opening the soup container. “Finish this."

Ky looks queasy, but doesn’t protest. His hands are shaking too badly though, so Sol sighs and feeds him slowly. “I'm sorry,” he says again between spoonfuls, and Sol only growls, "Just eat your dinner."

He obediently focuses on eating, and despite his grimace, he does finish it off. Sol passes him a tissue to wipe his mouth and helps him shift the pillows, so he can lie flat once more, before going to shower. Fifteen minutes later, Sol is in the other bed, trying to sleep, but Ky keeps tossing restlessly. Then there's the scratching, worse than the day before, then the sniffles, then the teeth chattering, then—

Sol throws off the covers with a groan and carries them to the other bed. Without preamble, he rolls Ky in the blankets, so the boy can't move, and lies down beside the bundle. He feels Ky tense at the proximity, then relax as he pulls the last blanket over them both.

“I—I'm sorry, Sol," Ky whispers because he doesn't trust his voice. He knows — Sol's hearing is exceptionally sharp, and he's keeping the older man up. “I j—"

"Just need to get it outta your system. I know."

And that's it — he gasps at the pain, fails to choke back the sobs. All the days of fighting this down, all the years of screaming out for help inside, and that's what breaks the dam — he can’t stop the tears.

“I'm sorry,” he says, again and again and again — he never wanted to be a burden, never wanted to acknowledge this weakness, never wanted anyone to see the wretchedness they’d reduced him to.

But Sol only wraps strong arms around him to cradle him close and lets him hide his face as he cries. It's warm… Sol is being so gentle, and Ky's never felt so safe — it only makes more tears overflow. Like some gaping maw had opened up inside and was pushing everything around it out to the surface, he can barely breathe. The more he cries, the emptier he feels, the more he needs that _something_ he can’t name. Sol’s fingers tangle in his hair, rub soothing circles into his scalp, and it feels like a comfort he doesn't deserve.

“I'm sorry,” he sobs brokenly, hands fisting in the blankets.

Sol tightens his hold, and it’s as if he can breathe again. “Stop apologising, kid. None of this is your fault."

Ky shakes his head. “No, but it is, it is.” It’s so pathetic; he’s so ashamed. “I was foolish, I was trusting, I w—"

"You were five. Look, I don't give a crap how you ended up here, boy. Now shut up and go to sleep."

Inexplicably, that makes him chuckle, dulls the edge of that nameless need. "Thank you," he murmurs into tanned skin as exhaustion dries his eyes. “I’m glad I met you."

"Ky, I just said shut up."

"Mm." He settles into sleep. _If only I'd met you sooner._

-+-+-+-+-+-

The detoxification takes a few weeks, but not once does Ky cave into pleading for relief, and he eventually starts to look less ill. He restarts his training exercises of his own accord and resumes bugging Sol to teach him more. The next time they pass a weapons shop, Sol lets him pick one out to practice with, and he chooses a long sword that seems to fit naturally in his hand. It’s not a style of fighting Sol is good at, but he’s observed enough opponents over the years to teach Ky some basics.

Ky quickly gets the hang of channelling magic into his sword, and with some practice, he gets better at keeping it up. Of all elements, Ky chooses lightning — it’s difficult, but it feels right, so he puts in the extra effort and practices diligently. Soon enough, he figures out how to create projectiles. Sol pushes him, gives him some pointers, and he gets faster, refines his technique, learns how to condense more power into smaller projectiles.

They find a bounty, and Ky watches from a safe distance as Sol subdues it. By the next day, Ky is practicing his execution of a few new moves, apparently inspired by Sol’s Bandit Revolver. A month later, when it seems like he’s learned enough, Sol lets him fight some smaller Gears as a test, and he does quite well, comes away with only a few cuts and scrapes. He's still human though, so it takes some time for him to recover. Sol says nothing when he remarks wishfully on the prototype Gear's rapid healing.

It’s time though — Sol doesn’t have much left to teach him, and the boy’s wasted anywhere but the front lines. Sol has developed his own style of fighting over the years, but it’s not one that suits Ky. The kid would benefit far more from the Order’s formal training, so Sol charts a course back towards Paris.

“I see,” is all Ky says when Sol tells him over dinner, and he doesn’t look happy.

Sol scratches his head. “You said you want to become a knight.”

Ky smiles and agrees, “I do,” but it’s clear his heart is not in it.

He should be happy to pursue his dream, he knows, but… it feels wrong. It sounds like Sol plans to drop him off at the Order headquarters and leave, but he can’t help feeling that’s unfair. He’s heavily indebted to Sol for helping and not giving up on him, from dealing with the traffickers to learning combat and magic to coping with the withdrawal, and it doesn’t seem right to part ways without repaying the man’s kindness.

Moreover, after so many nights of being bundled up and held down to keep him from scratching till he bleeds, Ky finds himself snuggling close in his sleep when they’re out camping and waking frequently when alone in a different bed. Sol doesn’t complain, but Ky tries to adapt — he doesn’t want to cause any trouble or misunderstandings. Still, it troubles him to think Sol won’t be there soon, not even in a nearby room — he’ll admit it: he’s afraid. Like Sol said at the start, he could have gone straight to the Order, but he didn’t want to be seen in his condition, couldn’t trust anyone else.

Intellectually, he knows, of course, that not everyone is out to harm him, but he hasn’t known many exceptions. When Sol is with him, he feels safe — from humans, from Gears, from the dangers of a world he barely knows. Even knowing that Holy Knights are those who would lay down their lives to protect the populace doesn’t assuage his fears — none of his customers had looked capable at first sight of the things they did to him. He knows better than to trust blindly now.

“...you’re scared.”

Sol states it simply, without censure, but Ky flinches like he’s been slapped. He longs to be strong, to make Sol proud, but he can’t even hide this weakness.

He shakes his head, keeps his eyes trained on his dinner. “I’ll be fine.”

“Hn.” He thinks the conversation is over, but then, “That kind of organization can’t afford such scandals in its ranks.”

He nods, twirls another mouthful of pasta on his fork. “I know.” He’s not surprised Sol can read him like an open book, but he still looks up with a brave smile. “Like I said, I’ll be fine.”

That night, the room only has one large bed, and Ky wonders if the arrangement is deliberate, if Sol knows. Under the covers, when the lights are down, he shifts closer — soon, he won’t be able to anymore. Sol welcomes him, cocoons him in strong arms, and it’s warm, comforting, _safe._

“You’re not helpless anymore,” that deep, strong voice whispers. “You can protect yourself now.”

Inexplicably, it’s easy to believe, like a conviction born of his own soul. “Yes,” he says, melting into the other’s embrace. “I know.”

By the time they reach the headquarters of the Sacred Order, he’s convinced himself that he can do this. To his surprise, Commander Undersn comes to see them personally, and he recognizes Kliff as the man who saved him from the Gear attack that claimed his family’s lives when he was three, the one who inspired him to become a knight. He’s relieved although Kliff doesn’t recognize him, of course, and actually came to speak with Sol —he believes that the Commander is a righteous man— but he’s still immeasurably grateful when Sol doesn’t leave.

-+-+-+-+-+-

As expected, Ky’s abilities grow exponentially under Kliff’s tutelage, and in no time, he’s one of the Order’s most powerful fighters, rising quickly through the ranks with his mounting accomplishments on the front lines. His benevolent personality, strong sense of justice and earnest desire to help others make him popular, and public relations soon appoints him their poster boy — the Angel amongst the Holy Knights come to deliver them from the Gear plague, a symbol of hope for the human race.

With the widespread admiration comes no small amount of jealousy, and the already socially awkward Ky withdraws even more from his personal interactions — the resentment is almost easier to deal with than the fawning. He’s respected as a leader for the most part, of course, but his aloofness hinders him from bonding with others, so he doesn’t really even have friends. Fans say he’s just shy, dissenters that he thinks he’s too good for the rest of them. In truth, he doesn’t know how much of the social interactions he has learned is flawed, so he keeps his distance to avoid giving people any wrong or right ideas about him.

The worst is when the other knights talk about love and sex or express attraction towards him — he doesn’t know how to react. It’s hard to empathise with their interest, harder to tell between seriousness and jest. At best, he can smile politely when the other knights display their affection for each other openly — the sexes are fairly equally represented in the Sacred Order, and relationships among members are fairly common despite not being encouraged. So many of his comrades are in some stage of a relationship, and their words of love feel as abstract as his memories of his dead family.

Fortunately, they dismiss his awkward disinterest as him being too young to understand at thirteen or some repressed little saint as per the image PR has cultivated for him, but he worries this won’t last, that people will suspect eventually.

And the truth is, he isn’t disinterested per se. All this talk makes him curious — he doesn’t know what it’s like without the drugs that make all but the most violent of physical contact pleasurable. Without the drugs, will it only be the pain, helplessness and disgust that he remembers?

Logically, of course, he realizes it is highly improbable that the customers were drugged too, so sex must be enjoyable enough sans substance abuse to be worth paying for. Even the other knights extol its pleasures, although none would admit to engaging in it with anyone but their spouses in line with the Order’s staunch religious principles.

That’s the other problem: everyone seems to expect him to develop some sexual interest in women eventually, but women only remind him of his late mother. He has trouble associating her with something as base as the “work” he used to do — it makes his skin crawl with disgust to think of sullying her as he was once sullied.

Instead, he finds himself thinking more and more of that first thank you kiss, the heady sweetness of bourbon and smoky tobacco aftertaste on Sol’s lips, the way Sol’s hands felt on his skin as they corrected his stance or wound bandages around his cuts. Sometimes, alone in his cold, dark room, there are more fantasies than memories, and they haunt his dreams as much as his waking mind.

They’ve grown apart though.

Between his training and their missions, they hardly see each other anymore, and he gets the message that that’s as it should be — PR doesn’t want their star ideal hanging around the resident pariah. He realized soon enough that Sol was considered rude by others, that the man’s lack of respect for the Order’s hierarchical authority rubbed knights of every rank the wrong way — they grudgingly respected him because, when it came to fighting Gears, Sol was peerless.

Ky is fairly certain it’s some machination of Commander Undersn’s that keeps Sol assigned to his units, and he’s torn — on one hand, he’s glad Sol is with him out on the field; on the other, it probably reflects poorly on him as a leader that he allows Sol’s insubordination to continue. He knows better than to try ordering Sol around —Sol will do as he asks if it’s a good idea— but that’s hardly effective military command.

He tells himself that’s why he’s here, knocking on the door to Sol’s room at twenty-two hundred hours, on this airship on their way to their next operation in Mongolia. But when Sol opens the door, raises an eyebrow and steps aside to let him in, he wonders why he ever thought having this conversation in private would be any easier. The door clicks shut, and he doesn’t know where to begin.

“Am I… Do you think I’m ill-suited to lead this company?” he settles for asking directly at last.

“No.” Sol shakes out a cigarette and lights it. “What’s this about?”

He shouldn’t be smoking on the airship, but they’re n— No, that’s exactly what they’re here to talk about, and Ky’s going to sidestep the fight he expects — that’s the problem.

“People are saying I’m letting my personal feelings cloud my judgment, the way I let you do as you please,” he admits, gripping the nearby chair for support. Avoidance can’t go on forever. “Even this.” He waves at the cigarette hanging from Sol’s lips. “You can’t smoke on the airship, but—”

“Heh.” Sol sits on his bunk bed. “I’d like to see you try, boy; do it." He smirks haughtily, and the curve of his lips, the scent of tobacco smoke — they bring back memories. “Show them you don't _let_ me do anything."

Ky sinks down into the chair in despair — he’s even getting distracted. “How is that any better? Either they think me a weak leader or a weak fighter."

"Does that really trouble you?"

"Yes!" He leaps to his feet in frustration, running his hands through his now short hair, and tries to focus. "Why else would I be here, having this difficult conversation with you?"

Sol stands as well, steps closer, radiating musky warmth. "What are you really afraid of, Ky?" Sol stops right in front of him, toe to toe, and it’s overly familiar. "You know the people here don't give a crap what I do or don't do. You'll always be their Messiah."

Ky realizes he can’t back away because the chair is behind him, so he instead makes a grab for the cigarette. A short tussle ends with it in the bin and Sol pinning him to the wall — he'll count it moderately successful.

“Ky,” more sharply now. “We both know you’re shitty liar. Now, what are you afraid of?”

"I’m afraid I’ll lose you too,” he admits at last, barely above a whisper, tracing the etching on his belt buckle with the fingers of his free hand. “Like that time…” He trails off because he can’t talk about it, that time they all disobeyed and died so he could escape. Sol’s strong, he knows; he knows, but— He shakes himself — no, he needs to focus on reason. “Morale and hope, Sol, that's important. Wars aren't won by strength alone.” He looks into Sol’s mismatched eyes then, and a part of him regrets it — he’s transfixed. “Even for me," he finds himself saying, "that was enough."

He leans into a kiss, and just like the first time, Sol immediately kisses back, like it's instinct. There's an honesty in that — it's easier than words. This time, he doesn't taste bourbon, but the smoky aftertaste is still there and something more. Blood rushes down, and he gasps, backing away — he hasn't felt this since the last time they'd drugged him.

"What's the meaning of this, Ky?"

Sol hasn’t moved, and Ky smiles weakly.

“I've been thinking about this for some time, what it's like without the drugs." He shifts forward once more, leaning up for another kiss, but Sol cups his cheek to hold him back. "I'm not eleven anymore."

Sol scoffs. "If you think two years makes all the difference—"

“I was old enough to sell it at nine," he snaps. "Don't tell me I'm too young to want it at thirteen." Maybe that's the heart of the problem — Sol still thinks of him as a child.

"Listen to yourself. That's a brat's flawed logic."

He grabs Sol's hand to pull it away, but can't budge it — it only makes him angrier. "If you think me sullied, you c—"

Sol pulls him into a tight hug, holds him still when he tries to struggle. “Don't."

He stills — it's futile, he knows. “Just tell me i—"

"People talk," Sol interrupts sternly, "and you think you want it because it's all you know, but in truth, you're even more confused than you were two years ago. Grow up, Ky. A man faces up to his real faults, not invents some for self pity."

Ky shakes his head. “How long will you continue to treat me like a child?"

"Numbers don’t mean a thing, boy — it's what's in here."

Sol ruffles his hair, and he slumps in that familiar embrace.

“I've missed you," he confesses quietly, inhaling the other's slightly spicy scent. “Don't send me away yet." Surrounded by people or in another man's arms, he still feels so alone.

This, Sol allows, leading him to the bunk to lie down in the narrow space. Sol hugs him tightly, face buried in his hair, and he laces their fingers in the silence. More than anything, in this closeness, he's comforted. It's Sol who wakes him some time after he's drifted off, and he's reluctant to leave, but he thinks of the things he said before — a leader should be more responsible.

Only two doors away from Sol's corner room, he runs into UC Lyle doing his rounds. The knight salutes him, and he returns it. [5]

"Late night with Master Sol, sir?" Lyle asks with a smile, and Ky can only wonder what the man suspects, how he should deflect.

“Ah, y—yes. We were discussing tomorrow's operation until I fell asleep." He chuckles sheepishly. "It's quite unseemly of me, I’m afraid."

"Ah, so you've been giving him solo missions."

 _W—what?_ "Err... Well, he doesn't seem to work very well with the others, so I may as well give him a separate set of orders," he reasons, deciding it's best to play along. "But sometimes, I wonder if it makes me an ineffective leader that I choose to accommodate rather than get him in line."

"Not at all, sir. I feel a great leader is one who knows how best to employ the tools at his disposal. It's comforting to know we have a leader who takes our respective strengths into account when sending us into battle."

"A—ah..." Somehow, Ky feels like he's set himself a new bar. “I do my best..."

"As all any of us can, sir."

"Thank you." He resumes walking towards his room with a smile, an idea taking form in his head. “You've taught me something important."

"I—I have? It's an honour, sir. Good night!"

"Good night, UC."

Solo missions, huh? He can work with this.

-+-+-+-+-+-

It's the night before their next operation, and he's on his way to Sol’s room as usual when Ky spots the older man heading towards the main building. Curious, he follows Sol and is shocked to see him breaking into the vault.

 _There must be... There must be some circumstances..._ Sol may not be the nicest of people, but Ky knows better than anyone the hidden nobility beneath that brash exterior. Sol is no thief. He waits outside the vault, fidgeting — what would he even say?

"Ky..."

He turns. Sol is holding... Ky is quite sure that's the Fireseal. Commander Undersn showed him the vault once, where the Order holds custody over the United Nations' five Sacred Treasures. There are eight, together forming the Outrage, but God only knows where the other three are.

"Sol, why are you doing this?" He should probably attack and call for reinforcements — no matter the reason, a theft is a theft. Sol isn't even wearing the uniform anymore — he intends to desert the Order, too. The reasons shouldn’t matter, and yet—

"I need it to fight Justice."

His eyes widen. “You've found her again? You know where she is now? Then—"

"Not yet." Sol starts walking. “But I will." He’s gotten all the information the Order can give him.

“N—” He runs to intercept. “Then why can’t we find her together?”

Sol stops. “Move aside, kid. I won’t ask twice.”

“No. Why do you always have to do everything by yourself?"

He doesn’t have to explain, he knows —even fighting at full strength, Ky can’t stop him— but Ky’s always been good at assuming everything is about him, and he’ll only do something idiotic if Sol doesn’t shatter the delusion.

“What was our last operation?”

Ky furrows his brows, confused, but answers anyway. “We intercepted a Gear force headed for Moscow.”

“And the one before that?”

“We were called to defend Mumbai from a medium scale attack.”

“And before that?”

“We— What’s your point, Sol?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You holy knights are too busy defending the populace to solve the real problem.”

“We are the hope of mankind. I told you — wars aren’t won by strength alone. We won’t desert anyone if there’s even a glimmer of hope that they can be saved. Are you saying that’s wrong?”

“No.” He reaches out to tuck a stray lock of blond hair behind Ky’s ear, a final gesture of affection. “I’m saying that’s _your_ job, Ky. So let me do mine.”

Ky catches Sol’s hand as the man turns to walk away. “Promise me one thing,” he says desperately.

The other glances back. “Hn?”

“Promise me you’ll send word when you find Justice. Promise me you won’t go alone.”

He’s unprepared for Sol reeling him in for a kiss, but he’s kissing back immediately — it’s instinct, honesty beyond words. It’s never been Sol who initiates though, and it’s different. Sol plunders the recesses of his mouth, holding him close, and there’s an intimacy to this that fills him with warmth, that makes his eyes fall shut. This time, there’s no smoky aftertaste either, and Sol’s tongue seems to caress his, at once a gentleness and a certainty. He whimpers as his knees buckle, as if the mere contact saps his strength, and then just as suddenly, it’s gone.

When he opens his eyes, there’s nothing but emptiness, and he sinks to the floor. As a knight, even as a person, he should have stopped Sol, and yet—

It’s ironic, he thinks, pressing his palm to his lips to preserve the last of that warmth. All this time, hearing the others talk about knowing with absolute certainty whom they’d want to spend eternity with, and still he never understood love until it was gone.

-+-+-+-+-+-

Ky will be the first to admit the call came as a surprise. Sol didn't even really promise, and the man has always been a near-pathological loner. He'd rushed to mobilize the assault on the coordinates given, knowing Sol would go ahead without backup anyway, and of course, by the time they'd fought their way through the hordes of Gears, the Gear plant was going up in flames and missing a few chunks of wall.

"Are the preparations ready?"

There's a chance that they can't kill Justice, but they won't get another chance to fight her, so they've prepared a blood seal to lock her in a Dimensional Prison. Even alive, in stasis, she can't harm anyone, and no one can reach her. Hopefully.

“Yes, sir!"

"Then onward! Let's end this!"

The remaining knights cheer as he leads the charge ahead, but he stops short when they reach. Sol is on the ground, headgear discarded a small distance away and hair disheveled, apparently having trouble getting up.

"Ah, perfect timing," Justice says, turning to them. "It's time you fought on the right side of this war. Become my servant and destroy!"

 _Where...?_ Ky casts about for an incoming attack, preparing to defend, but then—

"Storm Viper!" From the ground, Sol sweeps up to knee Justice in a blaze, catching her off guard. “What the hell are you waiting for?! Ky!!"

Shocked into action, Ky shouts the command, "Now! Magical Squadron forward! The seal!" and the team immediately starts casting it.

"I—impossible!" Justice cries as she tries to recover, but Sol knocks her to the ground. "Why won’t you accept my o—"

As she lands, Ky finishes the sealing spell, and she screams as she's pulled into the Dimensional Prison. The knights watch with him, prepared for anything to go wrong, but the portal closes without a hitch, and they’re left standing in silent disbelief.

Sol is the first to move after many minutes pass, walking towards where his headgear lies on the floor. Still, nothing happens, and Ky is immeasurably relieved — they’ve won.

At last, they’ve won.

The war is over.

“Make the announcement,” he says, sheathing the Thunderseal with a tired smile and a sigh of relief. “Justice has been sealed. The Crusades have ended.”

The cheering that erupts behind him is thunderous, and the knights immediately run out to spread the happy news. Outside, he can hear the other units finishing off the remaining Gears. Some flee, some freeze, and the mop up is swift — the Gear army has disintegrated in the absence of their leader.

Alone together now in the burnt remains of the Gear plant, Ky lets his feet carry him forward despite not knowing what to say. After over a year of radio silence, one message with these coordinates, and now Sol won’t even look at him. God knows it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Untinted by the lens of his feelings, he realizes Sol has only once treated him as something other than a damaged child to be rehabilitated. Even so, even that much… He can’t help but wonder: Has the distance put him as far out of Sol’s mind as it has made his heart grow fonder? In the end, perhaps pity is all it ever was.

“Sol,” he whispers, reaching out. Sol tenses when he touches the man's arm, but doesn't brush him off. "Will you—” He hates his heart’s weakness. “Won’t you even look at me anymore?"

"Ky... I told you to stop imagining these slights."

He blinks, suddenly confused. “Then—" He steps in front, but Sol turns away again, and he realizes at last — Sol is hiding something. In a rush, Justice's words come to mind.

_"It's time you fought on the right side of this war."_

There hadn't been anyone else.

 _Could it be...?_ "No..."

"Some truths are best left hidden, boy," Sol warns, but doesn't evade him this time.

He gasps at the sight — the Gear mark glows its monstrous orange beneath long brown bangs. Ky is torn — a part of him recoils in fear, yet another longs to close the remaining distance between them. As he stares, frozen in shock, Sol sidesteps around him and crouches to pick up the red headgear on the floor, and it finally dawns on Ky why he's never seen Sol without it.

"Dear God..." he breathes. All this while, a Gear hidden amongst humans... And yet, Sol had helped seal Justice away. “But why...?"

Sol turns to face him at last, headgear back in place. "I don't owe you an explanation, boy."

"Heh." Of course. He shouldn't even have bothered. In the end, what does it even matter? The reasons won't change the facts or even his feelings. "No," he agrees, stepping closer. He doesn’t doubt — Sol is no monster. No matter what he just saw, he knows Sol isn’t evil. “You owe me nothing." If anything, he's even more deeply indebted to Sol instead. "It's just..." He looks up, searching mismatched eyes for something, anything, but they're completely shuttered. "I've missed you," he says, pleading. “Don't send me away?"

He leans in before he can lose his nerve, kisses Sol like he's longed to for so many months now, not even daring to pray.

Then suddenly, Sol is pulling him close, kissing him back in those powerful arms, and he doesn't need any words — this is better.

This is all he'll ever need.

When they part for air, he lets out a shaky laugh and doesn’t let go. “What will you do now?"

"Hunt down the remaining Gears," Sol says like it's obvious, leading him outside by the shoulders.

Ky leans into the other's side. "Back to bounty hunting then?” He'll admit it: he’s disappointed. But it's not like he'd ever deluded himself into thinking that Sol would stay in one place, even by his side.

Sol shrugs. “It pays me for something I'd do anyway. You'll continue to lead this dreary Order?"

Ky shakes his head. “With the end of the war, the Order no longer has a purpose. As Commander, I must ask you to help me write my last report before I disband the Sacred Order tomorrow."

"Hmph."

"As for beyond that... I think I might enlist in the IPF."

"Heh."

"We've ignored crime in favour of the Gear threat for too long now, and it has flourished in our neglect. I don't want anyone else to suffer as I have."

Sol says nothing, and Ky is content to walk in silence, but as they approach the Order airships, he realizes that the paths they've just chosen won't often intersect, and that only means...

"Will I... Will I see you again after this?" he asks softly, although he doesn't think he could bear it if the answer were no.

Sol looks at him like he's completely daft. “Where do you think people pick up and turn in bounties?"

 _Oh. OH._ He grins, turning to loop his arms around Sol's neck. “Time to see if you live up to your reputation then."

"Damn right, kid." Sol smirks, his eyes warm now as he returns the hug. "You'd best have those cheques ready with my name on them."

-+-+-+-+-+-

As soon as she steps out, I-No knows she’s done it wrong again. “Same damn wasteland,” she mutters, and another portal opens behind her like he’s been waiting.

That Man seems tired as he steps out — it’s one of the few things they can relate to in each other. "What happened this time?"

Well, that’s irritating — big things like these, he keeps close tabs on. "What, are pointless questions your new punishment? I altered the outcome of the Battle of Jordan."

"No." He sits, shaking his head — it’s the exact same pillar as the last time. “No, that's inconsequential. What else? How?"

She's annoyed now. "What? You know damn well how! I crashed a Flying type into a bunch of its friends."

“Ah, that's it... The wide ripples of causality... That Gear would have attacked and destroyed some civilian airships the next day."

"Argh! You're pissing me off!!" I-No screams in frustration. For all that he has the most interesting schemes, sometimes, she gets really tired of his cryptic bullshit. “Will you just tell me what the fuck's going on?!"

Again, That Man sighs. “Ky Kiske never even met The Child of Light and Darkness. She lived a brief but happy life with the Jellyfish Pirates, but was quickly sublimated by Valentine though she never hurt a soul. The High King was soon assassinated by the Conclave using Blacktech, and there was no escaping the 'merciless Apocalypse' even before Frederick charred everything to ash. In the end, I am still powerless to prevent this end." He looks down at his gloved hands. “Could this be inevitable? No.” He stands, clenching his fists. “I cannot accept that this is our only future. Th—”

“Ugh, fine! Quit your nagging. I fucked up, so I'll fix it! It's boring like this anyway." She opens another portal and leaps in. “Time for another rewrite."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] - "You want to buy a sword?"
> 
> [2] - "Yes." ... "I want to become a knight."
> 
> [3] - "Ah, that's marvellous!" ... "Well, if you follow me, you can buy swords real soon. Sound good?"
> 
> [4] - "God be praised."
> 
> [5] - UC = Upper Captain


	4. Chapter 4

### Timeline 4: Sweet Child o' Mine

 _Maybe,_ I-No thinks as she paces the barren wasteland. _I'm not going back far enough. Maybe the cogs started turning much longer ago._

She smashes a few pillars of rock with Marlene in frustration. _Can't undo Justice — that'd be boring. Can’t kill her early — tried that; it’s worse. Ugh, I shouldn't have signed up for this. It's not even fun anymore._

"Rrrgh!!! Who do I have to kill, who do I have to kill…?" She opens another portal. _Further back, but not too far. Let's see where this leads._

She steps into the light, steps out into chaos. The Eiffel Tower in the distance makes 'where' a no-brainer. When though...? She turns, looking around the building she’s on. To her left, a panel display on another high-rise is showing breaking news about the Gear attack in Paris. The date says 7th December 2162.

_Hmm…? What’s here?_

Behind, the news airship has its cameras trained on a major thoroughfare to report. I-No looks back at the panel. People are running in all directions — men, women, children— _Wait._ She squints at the screen. A blond toddler is helping another child up — the little brunette looks to have tripped over some debris. There’s something familiar about the boy in the white jumper and blue sweatpants, something… _Oho? Now, this is interesting._

I-No smirks — suddenly, she knows just what to do.

She runs to the edge of the roof. Not too far away, she can see Order forces slowly fighting their way through a group of Gears. Closer, she spots a familiar red blur.

A new idea occurs, and she chuckles as she leaps to the next roof. There’s a large water tank there, easy to tip over. She slides on the last bit of floor towards it, gives it an upward hit to send it over the edge, then watches as it crashes to the ground, obstructing a few routes and sending water everywhere. Further away, the red blur takes a left turn instead of going straight — one more to go.

Back in the direction of the Order forces, a flying Gear is headed to reinforce its friends — some ugly thing like a cross between an octopus and a pterodactyl. “Oh, nice, just what I needed.” She dashes towards it, covering the distance swiftly. “Time for a little stretto~” She dives into the large Gear with Sultry Performance, sending it careening into a nearby building, and follows up with Chemical Love to slam it into the ground. Walls collapse around it, and the entire building soon follows as it thrashes around in an attempt to get back up.

The rubble blocks off several routes, and she’s pretty sure the Order troops will be making a bit of a detour. Satisfied, she opens another portal and leaves without waiting for the Gear to recover.

-+-+-+-+-+-

“Ici!” Ky tells Elise, beckoning her towards him. “Rapidement!” [1]

After his parents were killed in the Gear attack last year, he was taken in by the church like Elise and several other children, but now that even that is gone, he doesn’t know what they’ll do after this.

If they survive.

They have to run, they have to escape, but the Gears are big and fast, and nowhere is safe.

Suddenly, a giant Gear comes up behind Elise. He opens his mouth to warn her, but she's trampled underfoot.

She didn't even have the chance to scream.

He turns and starts running, but the Gear is closing in, and _non, non, non,_ he can still hear the sick squelch and crunch of Elise in his ears, still sense that growing scary presence behind. _Cher Dieu, s—_ [2]

"Savage Fang!" The giant Gear staggers back. "Bandit Revolver!" It crashes to the ground. A red blur solidifies beside it into a tall man with a huge sword and longer brown hair than Elise's. "You need to get outta here, kid, you hear me?"

He doesn't understand, but then the ground shakes violently underfoot, and he loses his balance, falling onto his back. _S'il vous plait,_ he thinks before he's picked up and held close to someone. The wind rushes past, but it's warm, _safe._ [3]

Ky clings on tightly.

-+-+-+-+-+-

The Gears have retreated, as have the knights of the Sacred Order. Humanitarian organizations are bustling around now, tending to survivors. Sol goes to where a cluster of civilians are gathered around a supply truck, receiving food, blankets and medical attention from volunteers, and sets the toddler he rescued down.

"You should be safe here." He pats the little head, ruffles blond hair. "Run along now."

The kid says something he doesn't understand and doesn't budge. He frowns and bends down, turning the boy around and pointing towards the truck. “You need to go there, got it? Go on."

But when he stands, the kid turns back to him and shakes his head. Oh, he doesn't have time for this. He walks away.

He's barely taken his second step when something slams into his leg and latches on. It's the toddler, of course, wailing in French and crying into his jeans. _Oh, for fuck's sake—_

"He says he's got nowhere and no one," a nearby lady huddled in a blanket offers helpfully. She looks to be in her sixties. “He's begging you not to leave him."

Sol looks from the frightened boy to her and back. "No way."

"Please," she translates as the kid sobs and rubs tears out of his eyes. “He says he's scared. He's all alone now." Maybe the little girl he was helping was his last familiar face. "He's scared of being alone."

It’s like fucking déjà vu.

And goodness knows Sol’s not equipped to raise a child, but the big blue eyes looking up at him are so hopeful, pleading, brimming with more tears.

"God damn it." Sol sighs, sinking down on one knee. He runs his fingers through golden silk, prods a rounded cheek. The boy only clasps tiny hands around his wrist and clings on. "What's his name?"

The lady asks the question in French, and the kid looks from her to him before saying, "Ky. Je m'appelle Ky." [4]

"Fine." He stands, scratching his head and grimacing. “Fine." He's going to regret this, he knows. He regrets it already. "You'd better keep up, Ky."

She translates, and he has to look away from the blinding smile that breaks out on Ky's face. "He says he'll do anything you want, always. Thank you."

"Heh. Remember you said that, boy."

He nods at the lady and starts walking. Behind him, he hears the scurrying of tiny feet as Ky runs after him. They've barely rounded the corner when he hears a soft thud followed by a sharp cry of pain. He groans and turns — Ky has tripped over some rubble and fallen. The kid is picking himself up though, biting his lip to hold back tears.

“D—désolé!" Ky wails as he scoops the boy up, tears spilling again. "Ne m—" [5]

"Shh..."

Ky immediately quiets down, sniffling a little to stifle his sobs — obedient, resilient and kind. He could grow to like this kid, Sol thinks.

"We need to teach you English," he says as he cradles the boy close.

The kiss on the cheek catches him by surprise, but then Ky is wrapping short arms around his neck and burying a tear-stained face in his shoulder.

Sol pats a small back and resumes walking.

-+-+-+-+-+-

Sol shakes the water off his cloak as he steps out of the rain into the inn's covered porch. Another two bounties down easy, and with the storm raging outside, he hopes the inn cooks a good dinner. A clap of thunder resounds through the building as he heads up to his room, and he shakes the ringing out of his ears — too loud. He unlocks the door to an empty room.

“Ky?"

From amidst the cluster of pillows beneath the covers on the bed, a blond head pokes out, pale as the white sheets.

“S—Sol?"

Just then, there’s another clap of thunder, and Ky yelps, leaping out of the bed to run to him. _Oh._ He lifts the boy with one arm, pours himself a tumbler of whisky with his free hand and takes it to the coffee table by the window. Pulling and turning the armchair to face the window, he sits down and repositions Ky in his lap. He can't be dealing with this forever, so he's going to nip this issue in the bud.

Thunder booms again, and Ky curls into him, terrified.

“No," he says firmly, opening one window. “Look." He wraps his arms around the kid tightly to hold him still. "Don't close your eyes." Lightning flashes, more thunder. “See? Just a sound." Ky jumps a little, but repeats after him.

"Just a sound..."

"Hn. Harmless."

"Harmless..."

Ky is still tense when the next clap comes, but he looks attentively out the window. “Ah, a harmless sound," he muses when nothing happens, and when he observes the same of the next one, he relaxes slowly. “I've been afraid for nothing..."

Sol ruffles blond hair. That went easier than expected too, but Ky's always been an unusually bright and sensible kid. In truth, Sol expected to regret allowing the runt to tag along, for it to be a pain, but Ky hasn't been a hindrance — it's a pleasant surprise. Even bounty hunting has continued almost as usual — he just leaves the boy in a room with some snacks and a book and comes back in a few hours after the hunt for dinner before going to the next place. Ky's learned a lot of English in a year and always tries to be helpful in any way he can.

Thunder rolls behind a bolt of lightning that briefly illuminates the dark sky, and Ky is calm now, only tensing a little at the noise. “What is that light? It always comes just before the loud boom."

"Lightning. The boom is thunder. Thunder is just a sound, but lightning is powerful."

"Powerful?" Ky looks up with interest.

"Hn." He stretches out his hand to the window, and when the next bolt of lightning strikes, he gathers some volts into a little ball of blue lightning crackling over his palm. He brings the bit of lightning closer. “And it can be controlled in limited quantities."

"Ah, it's beautiful..."

Ky reaches for it, but Sol tosses it at a twig of a nearby tree. The twig fizzles and falls off, edges charred.

“W—whoa..."

"Water too." He gathers a bit of rain water into a small sphere in his hands and freezes it into ice chips, giving Ky one and dropping the rest into his whisky before taking a sip. Unlike fire, which comes naturally, he's not very good at these other elements, but he can manage some simple chords.

Ky laughs. "It makes cold."

"Water makes ice. Ice feels cold," Sol corrects, shaking a cigarette out of his pack and lighting it with a snap of his fingers.

“I like fire," Ky says, snuggling close. “It's warm. It's you."

He catches himself smiling — he's growing soft. Ky hugs him as best the kid can with short arms, and he thinks maybe that's not a bad thing. One day, he will lose even the ability to retain this appearance, and perhaps a part of him that doesn't feed the need for violence will be the only humanity that remains.

"Wind can be controlled as well." He shifts the air a bit, gathering the smoke from his cigarette and forming it into the shape of the rabbit on the cover of the book Ky was reading yesterday. “See? No reason to fear a storm."

Ky giggles with delight, bouncing up to swat the bunny. “Mm. I'm not afraid of anything as long as I have you."

Sol thunks his forehead into his palm. "Ky, that's not the point."

"But you're strong." Ky kisses him on the cheek.

Well, yes, but "You can do it too."

Blue eyes blink. “I can?"

"Yeah." Ky has the potential — Sol can sense it. "Close your eyes."

Obediently, Ky does as he's told. Sol holds a tiny hand in his, palm up. In the silence, only the sounds of the storm raging outside can be heard.

“Focus," he says, running his thumb over Ky's tiny palm. Then he casts the simplest chord: calling a few drops of rain to his hand. “Did you feel that?"

Ky tilts his head. "Y—yes... I can almost hear it."

To Sol’s surprise, Ky releases a little burst of energy, replicating the chord almost exactly, and more water gathers in their hands.

“Is that right?"

"Yeah." Ky is incredibly gifted for a human. "Open your eyes."

The boy gasps at the sphere of water hovering over his palm. “W—wow. I did that?"

Sol nods, scratching his head as Ky laughs breathlessly, exhilarated. “Guess I just taught you magic."

-+-+-+-+-+-

"Sol! Sol, look what I found!"

Ky runs over with a sheaf of papers in one hand and a bag of vegetables in another. Sol takes the papers as Ky gets to work on the vegetables — it's the new batch of Wanted posters, and they’re five Gears: one Megadeath, two Toxic and two Large. Of the last two types, one each is also Flying. The Megadeath will be easy to find — Megadeaths hard to miss thanks to their size. They'll need some leads on the rest, however.

"Are we going?" Ky asks as he sweeps the chopped vegetables into the pot over the fire.

There's a rabbit and some spices in the boiling water. Ky caught it too, stunned it with a bit of lightning. After the demonstration with the storm, Ky took to studying magic as quickly as he could manage, and it comes naturally to him, as does anything Sol teaches him about combat. Amazingly enough, he can use all the elements — most humans have trouble using just one, but Sol doesn't tell him that. Perhaps unsurprisingly, given its power and complexity, he chooses to focus on lightning, and he'd been so proud to show Sol the day he figured out how to make projectiles. It's a feat, especially with lightning, and Sol bought him some tea as a reward.

Once, Ky dropped some lightning into the river shallows to catch some fish. They caught so many that they had to sell the rest in the nearby town, and Ky never did it again — still the sweet little boy Sol picked up in Paris five years ago. Ky may stun and catch dinner, but Sol never lets him kill and clean it. The kid doesn't need to know how blood feels on his hands.

"Yeah," Sol replies, setting the posters aside and leaning back against the tree trunk. "We're going." He’d hunt them regardless, of course, but the bounties are good, so that's an extra bonus.

Ky scurries closer. “Is there anything we need to prepare? Anything I can do?”

After a bit of thought, Sol shakes his head. “Not tonight. We’ll go into town for information and supplies tomorrow.”

Having children isn't something Sol's ever given any thought to in the nearly two centuries he's been alive, but he thinks Ky might be an ideal son. The boy is always so eager to please, so diligent in everything from training to chores. He's made himself even more useful as he grows older, learning to do anything that Sol will allow or teach him and practicing till he perfects it.

“Sol, I’ve been wondering. Why is the pot always full when we start cooking, but only half-filled by the time we eat? We haven’t taken anything out.” Ky often asks questions like these. He’s a quick study and always curious about everything.

Lazily, Sol points at the space atop the pot. “Are things different when you look there?”

Ky leans forward a bit for a closer look. “Oh… Yeah, everything looks kinda… watery?”

“Mm, that’s steam. It’s water leaving the pot.”

“Huh? Where does it go?”

“Into the air.”

“But why would water go into the air?” Ky’s never satisfied with simple answers either — it’s how he’s made Sol explain everything from physics to the theory of magic.

Sol sighs wearily, wishing the stew would be ready sooner, so they could just eat instead. Ky crawls into his lap and leans back as he talks about energy and particles for the first time in over a century, and Sol consoles himself with the thought that at least Ky is smart — he’s good at grasping concepts and ideas even if the specifics are too advanced for many humans three times his age.

“Oh, is that why smoke goes into the air when you burn wood? Because the fire gives it energy, so bits of it can fly?”

“...close enough, yeah.”

“Then your cigarettes are also made of wood? Smoke comes out when you burn them too.”

“Dried leaves,” Sol corrects, exhaling another puff away from the kid. “But close enough.”

“Does the smoke taste nice? Is that why you take it even though it doesn’t smell nice?”

It’s too much work to explain psychoactive substances too, so he settles for, “Kinda, yeah.”

“Can I taste it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’ll make you sick.”

“Oh!” Ky sits up suddenly and swats the rest of the cigarette away — thankfully, it’s almost just the butt. “Then you shouldn’t take it either!” Sol wants to be angry, wants to punish the boy for the wastage and telling him what to do, but then Ky is winding thin arms around his neck and pressing a chubby cheek to his chest. “Please don’t anymore,” Ky begs unhappily. “I don’t want you to be sick.”

Sol groans, running a hand through his hair. “It _can’t_ make me sick, Ky.” This is the last conversation he wants to be having.

“Eh?” Ky looks up, confused. “T—that’s good, but… why not?”

“Because we’re different,” he sighs again, hoping the kid won’t press him for in what way.

“Can I become like you?” isn’t any better, however. “Then I’ll never be sick too, right?”

“No.”

Ky’s face falls, and the dejection only worsens Sol’s guilt. This is the first time he’s ever lied to Ky, and he hopes it’ll be the last. He’ll tell Ky someday, of course, but eight is way too early for this story. Sometimes, Ky is too smart for his own good.

Possibly the best thing about the boy, though, is he knows not to press when the door has been shut on a line of conversation. Sol wraps his arms around Ky in the awkward silence.

This feels like the longest he’s ever had to wait to eat rabbit stew.

-+-+-+-+-+-

It’s a long trek up the mountain, and despite the training, despite his growth, the runt’s having trouble keeping up. He keeps insisting he’s fine though, that it’s only a short way left to the village, and he can make it, no problem. It takes Sol helping him up a particularly high ledge and pointing out bloodshot blue eyes and chattering teeth for him to admit that he’s cold, that stubborn idiot.

Still, Ky insists, “B—but we’re a—almost there. I—I’ll be f—fine.”

“You are _not_ fine, you idiot. You’re burning up. Say something sooner,” he chides sternly, pulling the boy close under his thick cloak.

“Sorry..." Ky mumbles, melting into his arms. “I'm sorry. But I can walk. Just—"

"Shh..."

Ky obediently falls silent, letting Sol lift him, latches on tightly as Sol resumes walking, carrying him. Sol sets him down briefly to climb up another two ledges.

“Sorry," he says again when he's back in Sol’s arms. “I'll grow stronger soon..."

"Shh..." Sol hushes the boy once more, rubbing a trembling back to soothe. “We're here."

They get a room at the mountain village’s only inn, and the middle-aged innkeeper, Tanya, offers to call the village doctor for his “sweet little boy.” Sol doesn’t trust doctors, but Ky’s not a Gear, and the kid probably needs the medication, so he agrees. The doctor confirms that Ky’s just caught a bit of a chill and prescribes some medicine, advising lots of rest and healthy food. Tanya brings them soup and bread, and he has to feed Ky because the boy’s hands are shaking too much to even hold the spoon and bowl.

“Stubborn idiot,” he grouses again. “Say something earlier, damn it.”

“S—sorry…” Ky is curled into his side under the covers, still shivering.

“Listen,” he murmurs as Ky is drifting off after they finish eating. “Tomorrow, I’m gonna go deal with that bounty we came for. You stay here and rest.”

Ky perks up a bit and shakes his head. “I’ll be fine, Sol. Take me along.”

“No way. The hell you’re tagging along to fight a Toxic, boy. I was always going to leave you here.”

Blue eyes widen, and small hands fist in his shirt. “No. No, please. Please don’t leave me.”

“Don’t be difficult.”

The kid clings to him, shaking his head even more vigorously. “No, no, no, please. Please, Sol. I can help. Please take me with you. D—”

“Shh…”

Ever obedient, Ky immediately quiets down.

“You’re staying, boy. That’s final. I’ll be gone for a couple of days, so promise you’ll be better when I get back.”

Slowly, Ky nods, clearly reluctant. “Okay. I promise.”

He tucks the many blankets more snugly around the boy and holds the bundle close to warm it. As he settles in to sleep, he hears a small voice.

"P—promise you'll come back?"

Sol frowns. “Why wouldn't I be back? This hunt's a piece of cake."

Ky only snuggles closer.

He sighs, closing his eyes. “Just watch yourself and the luggage, boy."

-+-+-+-+-+-

The Toxic Gear is a little harder to track than he'd expected, and Sol is over a day late when he gets back to the inn. But as soon as he walks in, Tanya is storming over, and it's been nearly two centuries since he's seen a woman so cross at him.

“You!" she all but shouts, a weathered finger pointed imperiously in his face. "I thought even you bounty hunting thugs can be a decent man to be taking in war orphans, but you're a right piece of work, you!"

"The hell?"

"All that poor boy's been doing is weeping as he stares out the window, mumbling that you're not coming back because he wasn't useful enough to go along. You bad, bad man, how could you tell a child that?!"

 _That freakin' Ky..._ Sol groans, scratching his head. Sometimes, he wants to smack the silliness out of the runt, but it'd likely do permanent damage — human children are so fragile. "I d—yeesh." He stalks off to their room, Tanya at his heels still scolding him for his poor parenting.

Ky opens the door just as he turns into the corridor, running towards him with such joy and relief on his young face. "Sol! Sol, you're back!" Tanya falls silent as Ky leaps up to throw thin arms around his neck. “You're back, you're back, you're back... I'm so glad, I'm so glad..."

Longsuffering, Sol sighs and wraps his arms around the kid to carry him inside. Thankfully, Tanya doesn't follow them. "Have you been eating your food and medicine properly?"

"Of course! I promised I'd get better. See? I'm okay now."

In their room, there's a large bundle of blankets on a chair by the window and a few bowls on the windowsill — Tanya wasn’t even exaggerating.

“Is that your dinner?"

Ky shakes his head. “I wanted to wait for you."

"So what time did you eat last night?"

"...ten." Ky looks guiltily at the floor.

“And lunch today?"

"...three."

Sol flicks the boy on the nose. “Been making trouble for Miss Tanya, I see."

"S—sorry..."

"Save your apologies for her. Go tell her what you want for dinner too while I shower."

Ky smiles brightly. "Okay!"

The boy runs off as he heads into the bathroom. Sol massages his temples in the shower. He didn’t tell Ky anything — that's the problem. Looking back now, he realizes that Ky wasn't just naturally diligent — the kid has always lived in terror of disappointing him and being abandoned, being alone again.

Ugh, he's not good at this sort of thing.

After drying up and putting on his most comfortable shirt and jeans, he comes out to find Ky running in with Tanya close behind. She's carrying a tray of food and still glaring daggers at him, but Ky only climbs into his lap when he sits down at the table, and it's reflex to wrap an arm around a small waist to hold the boy in place.

"There's pot roast, soup with barley and vegetables, custard for dessert, tea for me and beer for you," Ky announces cheerfully as Tanya sets the tray down.

Her brown eyes soften when Ky turns to peck him on the cheek. Ky has always shown his affection very openly, and Sol's never tried to discourage him. It's one of the kid's most endearing traits, and it's often useful what a charmer Ky can be.

"And your medicine?"

Ky frowns. "Do I have to? I'm all better."

"Fine, we'll just have the doctor check you again before we leave tomorrow in case."

Tanya nods approvingly as Ky agrees and heads back out, leaving them to their dinner.

"Did you get the bounty?" Ky starts on the soup.

“Yeah, turned it in before I came back." Sol digs into the pot roast — it's delicious.

“Great!" Between mouthfuls of potato, Ky asks, "So where are we going next?"

"Southwest down the mountain. It’s the other Flying type, so you’re coming along.”

Ky beams up at him, and Sol concedes he’s doing it wrong — eight-year-olds shouldn’t be so happy about the prospect of bounty hunting. Ky doesn’t even like killing fish they won’t eat.

“I won’t let you fight Toxic types because you’re not immune to poison, you idiot.” He raps the boy lightly on the head with his knuckles, and Ky pouts over a piece of beef.

“I wish I could become like you — never get sick, immune to poison, strong…”

 _Monstrous, bloodthirsty, a destroyer,_ Sol fills in for him and grudgingly mutters, “I like you better as is.”

“Really?” Ky leans back, covering the hand around his waist with his own and nuzzling into Sol’s neck. “Then I won’t change.”

Sol sighs, setting his cutlery down and shifting Ky to face him. “Listen, kid, I should have told you this a long time ago, but…” He scratches his head. “Look, you’re doing great, so keep that up, but you don’t have to… earn your keep to stay or anything, got it? It’s not like that.”

For a while, Ky doesn’t say anything, then suddenly, he’s throwing his arms around Sol again, clinging on tightly. “I—it can be anything, Sol. I don’t— I don’t really mind as long as I can stay with you.”

“I— Yeesh, Ky, that’s not what I mean.” He runs a hand through his hair and tries again. “I’m not gonna make you leave. I don’t give a crap what you do or don’t do.”

Ky leans back and looks up, hopeful. “You won’t… You won’t leave me?”

Sol groans — he needs a cigarette. “That’s what I said, ain’t it? Ugh, what now? Stop crying.” _It makes me feel guilty._ “Why are you crying?”

Ky shakes his head, wiping his eyes. “I’m just really happy.” He scoots forward to rest his head on Sol’s chest. “Let’s be together _forever,_ okay?”

Sighing again, Sol ruffles golden hair. “Yeah, okay, all right. Now finish your dinner.”

As Ky resumes eating with gusto, Sol refrains from burying his face in his hands. Truth be told, he doesn’t think they’ve made any progress.

-+-+-+-+-+-

“I must say that when I heard about the famous bounty hunter, Sol Badguy, I wasn’t expecting to see you, old friend.” It’s been about seventy years, but if Sol squints, he can still see the boy he rescued in the burly old man that approaches their table — even the silver hair looks the same. “It’s been a long time since Basel, Frederick, but you are unchanged.”

Ky looks from him to the newcomer. “Who’s that? Ah, that uniform… The Sacred Order?”

“Kliff Undersn,” the old man says, offering his hand, and Ky takes it with a look of awe and wonder.

“As in Commander Undersn? Oh, it’s an honour, sir!”

“Ah, to still be a hero to the youth in my old age…” Kliff laughs, sitting down across from Sol without waiting for an invitation and signalling for a beer. “Still in the business of saving children, I see.”

Sol inclines his head around another mouthful of lamb. “This one’s a clingy crybaby, but he’s useful.”

Ky scowls at him, but only resumes eating his pasta.

"So what brings the great Commander out here alone?"

The waitresses play rock-paper-scissors to decide which of them gets to bring Kliff his beer, and Sol frowns at the attention they’re receiving from the rest of the tavern’s patrons now — Kliff Undersn is a well-recognized war hero. They even get an extra pint on the house.

“Talent scouting.” Kliff takes a long swig. “I’m getting on in my years, and I hope the Order will be stronger when I leave than when I joined.”

“Well,” Sol downs the rest of his pint and reaches for the new one. “Sad to say you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, old man. Your whole law and order gig ain’t really my scene.” On the other hand… “This one though.” He nods towards Ky. “You should take him. I promise he’ll fit right in.”

Protecting the populace suits Ky better than hunting monsters for cash. The boy could use some people in his life too. He deserves better.

But Ky immediately straightens. “Sol, I’m not going anywhere without you,” he declares firmly.

Kliff grins. “Oh, I’m sure it takes skill to be part of your team, old friend, but well, you heard the kid.”

Sol sighs, cuts himself another slice of lamb. “Like I said, clingy.”

But looking at Kliff, seventy years feels like a month. Ky is turning thirteen now, but it seems like only yesterday he was a chubby three-year-old sobbing into Sol’s shoulder in French. In no time, Ky will be seventy too, seventy and dying and wondering if there was any meaning to all those decades spent traipsing across the world to hunt the next Gear.

 _Would you resent me then?_ he wonders, looking into adoring blue eyes. He has no right to drag Ky into his atonement.

“I heard you’re looking for Justice,” Kliff says quietly, turning serious.

“Who isn’t?” He stabs and chomps on a chunk of carrot. “One kill to end this war.”

“Well, if you come with me, she’ll be the one finding you.”

He glances left. Kliff shrugs.

“Seventeen times I faced her; seventeen times we’ve ended in a draw. I fear our eighteenth shall be my last, Frederick. Will you not come and see?”

Sol thinks of the fight with Justice, but all he can see is Ky dying of old age in his arms, alone in some deserted wasteland, and it’s worse than hearing Aria admit she had congenital TP.

The second pint of beer is empty — more revelations of the end.

“Either way, we’re being paid to hunt Gears. With better intel too.” He shrugs, setting the tankard down. “Works for me, I guess.”

-+-+-+-+-+-

As expected, Ky fits in like a fish in water.

Under Kliff’s tutelage, his talents truly blossom, and he’s rising quickly through the Order ranks. His angelic good looks make him the perfect poster boy, his endearing personality makes him popular company, and once you’ve seen this willowy human boy stun a massive Flying type out of the sky with his Sacred Edge, it’s easy to believe in victory, to believe there’s nothing people can’t do.

Despite all his new friends, Ky still insists they share a room everywhere. Sol can’t decide whether he’s more glad or worried for it.

The problem with the Order, Sol thinks, is they've lost sight of the real problem. Most of their time and resources are spent on defending civilians against Gear attacks. It's not that protecting civilians is unimportant; it's that everything other than hunting down Justice is merely symptomatic relief. Justice can mass-produce Gears faster than the Order can recruit and train knights — this is nothing but a slow downhill slide. When Ky and his company are almost decimated buying time for civilian evacuation in Rome, Sol decides it's time to put a stop to this collision course.

By the time Ky returns to their room that night, Sol has already finished packing. “Sol? Wha— Where are you going?"

"To hunt Justice." He picks up his bag. "Someone needs to be solving the real problem while you holy knights are busy saving and protecting people."

Blue eyes blink. "You've found her again? Then let's go together. Give me ten minutes."

Ky moves to pack, but Sol stops him with hands on slim shoulders. “No, you’re staying here."

And it's like all the years, all the training, just melt away — the look of sheer terror is exactly the same as it was nearly twelve years ago. "No. No, no, no. Please, Sol, please. Don't leave me."

"Ky, calm down."

Ky is clinging to him, shaking his head and hyperventilating.

“Ky, stop it," he tries in a firmer tone, steadying the teen. "Oh, for fuck's sake, boy, you're not three anymore. How long do you intend to stay such a difficult child?"

"Please, Sol, please. I'll be better. I'll do anything. So please, please take me with you. S—"

"Shh..."

Just like every time before, Ky falls silent, calms down. Nothing, _nothing_ has changed, and _I did this to you._

"Shh..." he says again, holding the boy close as Ky sheds silent tears. “Listen, Ky. You belong here."

Ky who cries every night in Sol’s arms for his fallen comrades and goes back out there determined to reduce the number of casualties, time after time. Ky who'd willingly lay down his life, so thousands of people he's never even met can escape.

"This is what you were always meant to do. You’re a protector, not a predator." _Unlike me,_ he doesn’t say.

"I can't do this without you, Sol, please."

“Don’t be selfish. You’re needed here.”

“As are you,” the boy sobs into his red and white uniform. “ _I_ need you.”

 _I made you like this_ with all the years of hunting Gears across the world alone together. _I did this to you, and one day, I’ll have to watch you die._ Sol is old enough to admit this is his selfishness too, at least to himself. “No, you don’t. You’re not alone anymore.”

“Then you will be!”

“God damn it, Ky. Remember you said you’d always do anything I want.”

“Yes, to stay with you!” Ky sinks to his knees. “You promised you’d never leave me or send me away. So please, no matter what happens, take me with you.”

And the truth is — twelve years of exposure hasn’t given him an iota of resistance against those dewy, pleading blue eyes. Sol groans — he knows he should try harder to make Ky accept what’s best, but he’s never been very good at telling Ky “no.” He’s also never been one to do his best anyway — this is how they ended up here.

“Fine,” he grunts, holding his head in his hands and flopping back on their bed in surrender. This isn’t anything like he planned, but “Fine. Get your things. We’re going tonight.”

“Yes!” Ky leaps up to peck him on the cheek before scurrying off to pack.

It really does take ten minutes, and then they’re on their way across the compound.

“Hey, Sol,” Ky whispers, knowing he’ll hear it just fine. “The least guarded exit is that way.”

“I know.” He heads towards the vault. “There’s just something we need to borrow.” The one time he’d fought Justice, he’d been _so_ close. He knows just what he needs to make up that extra.

Ky darts in front of him. “Borrow or steal?”

Sol snorts — if the kid is having moral reservations, then he probably hasn’t failed completely. “If we’re getting into specifics, boy, then I’m taking back what’s mine.”

Ky raises an eyebrow, but only muses, “Well, if we’re using it to fight Justice, I guess it’s fine as long as we return it later.”

They make it in, and Ky looks around in fascination at the Order's treasures as Sol seeks out what he came for. "W—wow..."

"Got it." Sol grabs a bulky red squarish blade, and Ky is instantly struck by how well it suits him, right down to the colours and design. "Let's go."

As he walks by, he tosses Ky a blue long sword, reminiscent of the type of weapon Ky himself favours.

“Here, there's one for you too."

-+-+-+-+-+-

It takes a few years before they get to Justice.

Kliff falls in battle shortly prior. Ky mourns enough for them both — during their brief time together, he’s come to deeply respect the late Commander. Sol asks if he regrets leaving; Ky answers that he would have regretted not coming with Sol more. Sometimes, Sol regrets making him choose.

Command of the Sacred Order passes to Leo Whitefang — a good choice, but Sol can't help thinking that it should have been Ky, that he's robbed them of their ideal leader. Hearing of their losses after he and Ky have finally killed Justice only intensifies his guilt.

Humanity isn't prepared for Dizzy, for the onslaught she unleashes in vengeance for her mother. She laid low for some months in a Gear plant to prepare for it by creating thousands of new Gears, and humans lost the war they thought they'd won before they could even remobilize.

He created this — him, That Man and Aria.

This is their sin, and now, it's too late for atonement — Ky may be the only human left on the planet.

“You'll live forever, won't you?" Ky asks softly, lying in his arms under a blanket, staring into the dying embers of their campfire.

They're in a remote forest, a small distance from the bunker he’s turned into a lab just in case. _Safe,_ at least for now, but they might need the bunker eventually. They're here to protect Ky from the Gears hunting them both, after all — can't fight them all off.

"Sure hope not." Sol shrugs, lighting another cigarette. “Feels like I already have."

Ky shifts onto his back. In this clearing, looking up at the night sky, the stars seem so clear, eternal. He looks to the right, runs his fingers through Sol's long bangs. “You said we'd be together forever."

"Ky—"

"You can do it, can't you?" Ky waves his hand through the exhaled smoke above him, wiggling his fingers — a remaining bit of childlike playfulness. "Frederick?"

"My name is Sol," he corrects, but there's no heat in it.

Ky snuggles closer, wraps surprisingly strong arms around his waist. “I'm not afraid to die, Sol; I'm afraid of being without you. I don't mind whether it's this world or the next as long as you stay with me."

Sol sighs a puff of smoke. He thinks of Aria saying she'd rather die beside him than let him research a cure away from her. _What have I done to you?_ He looks at Ky — only twenty, could have been so much more without him. _What have I done to you?_ And he's tired; he's so, _so_ tired.

Ky kisses him on the cheek like he has every day for the last seventeen years, and it's a kind of peace. He presses his lips to Ky’s forehead, closes his eyes at the other’s contented sigh — it’s the first time he’s done this.

“Sleep,” he murmurs, tossing his cigarette butt aside and hugging Ky to him tightly. He looks at the pile of things they salvaged from the last abandoned city — food, clothes, cigarettes, books and a guitar. “Tomorrow, I’ll teach you how to play the guitar.”

Blue eyes light up. “Okay!” They settle into a more comfortable position. “Good night, Sol.”

This world or the next — they can decide some other day.

-+-+-+-+-+-

The city of Babylon is bustling when I-No steps out, but something feels wrong.

“Hm…? This again?”

Everyone around, _everyone_ is a Gear.

Seeing her, they close in. One attacks, and she sends it flying back into its friends. "Empty already? What a pity, I was just warming up." The other Gears move in to attack, and she smirks fiercely. “Just what I need to let off some steam. I can’t wait for the next one~”

She’s frustrated — wrong again. This is, what, how many times now? She’s losing count. _Just what the hell is the singularity?!_ She smashes her way through a group of Gears with Marlene. “Rrghh!! Let me hear you scream~” _That’s it,_ she thinks, _I’m done. Fuck That Man. Fuck this world. The hell I’m going searching without a clue again._

Spotting the Megadeath headed her way in the distance, she opens a portal. “See ya~!” She blows them a kiss as she steps through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] - "Here!" ... "Quickly!"
> 
> [2] - no, no, no ... "Dear God, p—"
> 
> [3] - Please
> 
> [4] - "Ky. My name is Ky."
> 
> [5] - "S—sorry!" ... "Don't l—"


	5. Chapter 5

### Timeline 5: If I Let You Go

“High King Ky, you say he’s always with him?” That Man gazes at a group of Holy Knights through the globe of light in his hands.

“Yeah, on and off, ever since they met in 2172,” I-No replies wearily from where she’s lying on white space, bored. It’s sickening that even with the power to change the past, the future either stays the same or gets worse. “If I change when or how they meet, they remain together since then too.”

The vision in the light zooms in on the blond knight, and That Man watches in silence as different scenes play out. “Aria… Perhaps this, too, is fate,” he murmurs at last. “I-No, can you get Ky Kiske infected with TP sometime after the Battle of Rome?”

“Oho?” She sits up, interest piqued. “Talk about cutting edge. That’s just what I like about you.”

“In the trials to come... Perhaps we need more than one.”

“Tch, just as you were finally saying something fun.” She opens a portal. “Ciao!” she calls as she steps in and disappears.

That Man turns back to watching the pair through the light. “Now… Frederick, what will you do? Will you save him as she saved you, or…?”

-+-+-+-+-+-

I-No steps out of a portal into a vaguely familiar landscape. “Hm… This is…” She looks around, searching for clues. It’s a city she recognizes, at least. “Warsaw, huh?” She steps out onto a moderately busy street, skims the offerings at a nearby booth.

The day’s papers are dated 12th January 2174.

 _Aha, guess I’m a bit early._ There will be a Gear attack here tomorrow, and she’s pretty sure the correct regiment responded. _No matter. This gives me time to prepare my little surprise._ With a smirk, she heads off towards the nearest hospital.

-+-+-+-+-+-

“We’ll hold them here!” Ky orders as he sends a Stun Edge at the nearest Gear. “Hurry and evacuate the civilians!”

Sounds in the affirmative echo behind him, and he focuses on pushing back at the attacking Gears with the help of the fighter units by his side. They’d been the nearest regiment to Warsaw when the distress call sounded, and even then, they’d been twenty minutes away. He hopes they can keep the already large number of casualties down.

Ky hisses in pain as the Gear he’s fighting grazes his chest and arm with a sharp talon, returning the favour multiple times over to kill it. Another Gear, just as monstrous, merely tramples its fallen kin to take its place on the front line, and Ky doesn't pause in his assault.

Suddenly, a woman stumbles out from an alley behind him, and he turns. She tries to run, but she's too weak, and it's clear from her bloodstained dress that she's injured. Whirling back towards the enemies, he sends a Sacred Edge through before running to her side and pulling her to her feet. She's light, frail, and she's shaking her head urgently, saying something in a panicked voice, but he doesn’t understand a word of Polish.

“Come, you have to run," he says calmly, supporting her weight and pulling her along. "Hurry now."

He's not sure she understands, but at least she doesn't struggle. It's pure instinct that makes him look back after a few steps, that makes him raise a barrier to buffer the attack he knows he can't dodge. Then—

"GUN BLAZE!!”

Sparks erupt along the ground and barrel into the attacking Gear, propelling it back into its kin, and Ky smiles. Something's changed since the Battle of Rome, and he can't put a finger on it, but Sol hasn’t been as infuriating lately. It almost feels like they’re friends now — it’s nice.

He leads the woman to one of the evacuation teams before hurrying back to the front lines.

That day, the Gears don't retreat. That day, the number of Gear casualties are double that of humans. That day, the Sacred Order saves the city of Warsaw, and Polish recruits swell in numbers.

It's not till over two months later that Ky first begins to fall sick.

-+-+-+-+-+-

Commander Kliff takes it the hardest —Ky has been like a son to him since he rescued the boy as a child— and he staggers to the nearest chair to sit down as the doctor announces his diagnosis outside Ky’s single ward.

“It’s the evolved form of TP,” he says sadly, shaking his head. “I’m afraid there’s no known cure.”

“Syphilitic cancer?” Sol raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “I’ll be damned if that kid has ever even masturbated, and you’re telling me he’s contracted a sexually transmitted disease?”

The Order physician levels him a calm stare. “There’s more than one way to come in contact with an infected person’s bodily fluids, sir, and I daresay you front line soldiers see more blood than anyone.”

_God damn it…_

Sol wants to scream. He wants to hit something. He wants to _break_ something.

But he only tightens his grip on his sword and walks away. He doesn’t start running till he’s outside the hospital, doesn’t stop running till he’s burned a trail through the wilderness, till even his Gear cells feel the exhaustion bone-deep and he collapses on the charred grass of the jungle he’s in.

 _Aria…_ He looks up through the trees at the sky that had no right to be so bright and sunny, and his vision swims. _It’s happening again…_

Aria’s infection had been congenital, her mother’s fault. Ky’s— Ky just never could mind his own damned business. Always rushing to help others… He’d probably been infected by some civilian he’d tried to save. Of all his fucking blessed luck.

Once upon a time, they knew how to cure TP infections — a few doses of antibiotics usually did the trick, more if the disease had progressed. But, as if in response to the discovery of magic, a plethora of new diseases began to emerge in 2010, many evolutions or mutations of existing ones.

TP was one of the first to mutate — infectivity and transmission vectors remained the same, but instead of manifesting syphilis with all of its known symptoms, the bacteria started attacking cells and altering their DNA. The altered cells would spread and divide, forming tumours and blockages everywhere, going unnoticed until they interfered with either internal bodily functions or external daily activities — basically a contagious cancer, and one that progressed too quickly for even known cancer treatments to be effective. Either the immune system won by itself, a slim chance, or death was swift and inevitable.

Aria, who had been infected at birth, escaped detection, and the infection remained latent for nearly two decades. By the time the pain started and the mutation was diagnosed, she didn’t have long left to live. And she’d refused to prolong her time with cryosleep.

In the end, he hadn’t managed to spend the last of her days with her as she’d wished.

He’d tried researching a cure, but he’d barely started testing it when That Man took him away from his work to forcibly use him as a prototype for the Gear Project. If only he’d completed his research, perhaps—

He throws a frustrated punch at the nearest tree he can reach. It cracks, tumbles to the ground.

Ky and Aria… Sol rarely thinks like this, but it’s not fair — it shouldn’t be them; it should be people like him. But instead, he gets to live forever and watch them all die.

No, he realizes, theirs is the blessing and his is the curse. That doesn’t make it fair.

 _Fuck this,_ he tells himself. He’s been here too long. He’s not going to stay to watch.

-+-+-+-+-+-

Guardian Angel Kiske is understandably popular, so people rushed to visit him in the early days. Now that he’s in an isolated ward for contagious illnesses and on a steady drip of painkillers that leave him asleep more often than not, visitor numbers have dwindled, and the place is deserted when Sol arrives late in the evening. Ky is awake for now, propped up on a pile of pillows and looking out his bedside window — it overlooks the courtyard where the Order Knights often train and gather.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says when he sees Sol, although he smiles with genuine happiness. “We can’t afford to have you sick as well.”

“Worry about yourself, boy,” Sol growls, coming to sit beside him. “How are you?”

The other’s smile turns wistful. “I don’t know. I can’t feel anything.”

He flicks the boy on the nose. “No? Not even this?”

Ky flinches away, but it’s slow, reflexes dulled by the morphine. He laughs instead of telling Sol to stop though, takes Sol’s hand in both of his own. “Thank you. Everyone else acts like I’m dead already.”

“Ky—”

“Shh… Don’t be sad like the others?” Ky’s grip on his hand tightens. “If you really want to help me, take my place on the front lines.”

He scoffs, turning away. “Where do you think I’ve been?” That’s not the reason he hasn’t visited before this, but now the boy can’t ask why.

“Thank you,” Ky says again, and he holds Sol’s hand close to his heart like the embrace he doesn’t dare offer. Sol edges closer, so the angle is less awkward. “I— Sol, I have a request.”

“Stop acting like you’re dead already.” It comes out more sharply than he’d intended, but Ky only shakes his head, undeterred.

“I heard the doctors. I know there’s no cure. And I’m not afraid to die, but… Sol, will you take over as Commander after Master Kliff retires?”

“Stop it,” he says, more fiercely this time. “That’s your job.”

“I know…” Ky sighs, his smile sad. “And I would, but…” He looks up, and the hope in blue eyes is blinding. “If it’s you, I feel like ending this war isn’t so remote a possibility. So promise me.” He reaches forward then, takes Sol’s face in his hands, wipes his thumbs over tanned cheeks.

Sol catches his hands by the wrists. “Ky—”

“Is this a dream?” the boy asks suddenly.

Against his better judgment, “Yes.”

Ky’s face falls, but he tugs Sol closer. “That’s good. Then this is okay.”

To Sol’s surprise, Ky kisses him, chaste and soft, but then he’s kissing back, deepening it, and gathering the other close. Ky has always been slender, but now he feels almost weightless in Sol’s arms — frail, disappearing. He moans into the contact like he’s desperate for it, and Sol doesn’t want to let go.

“Figures.” Ky laughs when they part for air, a hint of bitterness in it as he presses his forehead to the red headpiece. “You’re only like this in my dreams.”

 _God damn it…_ Sol groans, pressing Ky into the bed as they kiss again, blanketing that willowy body with his own. The metal frame creaks as Ky arches up into him, but he only laces their fingers, finds his way between layers of cloth to touch bare skin.

“S—Sol,” Ky gasps when they break off again, when he rocks his hips into the other’s and mouths down the side of a pale neck. “We can’t— I’ll i—”

“You can’t,” Sol assures him, fingers dipping into more intimate ground. Ky whimpers, trembling — he wants, he’s always wanted. “You’re dreaming.”

“Ah, Sol…” Ky gives in, lets go, and his fingers scrabble for purchase on Sol’s back — they end up buried in soft brown hair. “It’s enough like this. I should only sin in my fantasies.”

Sol clings to him, molds their bodies together through the layers of fabric, and it’s like water in a desert — never, never enough. “Ky,” he growls softly into the other’s ear. “Ky, I—”

Ky cries out, jerking as he spills between them, and fuck, but it’s unbelievably _hot._ Sol’s vision whites out as the pleasure sears through him, and he holds Ky tightly, rides out their orgasm together. Ky clings to him too, resting his head on Sol’s chest when they turn, still tangled in the mess of sheets. The good thing about all the layers on the Order uniform is that no one’s going to notice.

“Ky, I won’t let you do this,” he tells the boy sternly, carding his fingers gently through blond hair. “Grow up and take some responsibility. I’m not running your militant cult for you.”

Ky laughs through the tears. “I’ll try. If I promise, will you promise?”

“Fine,” he grunts, regretting it. “Fine, it’s your dream. Why are you crying?”

The other shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“...what now?”

“I— I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but…” Ky’s arms tighten around him. “When I’m gone, you’ll be all alone again. I’m sorry.”

 _Oh Jesus fuck._ Sol runs a hand through his hair in frustration. For a fleeting moment, he wants to maim the boy himself. “You can’t talk like this.” It’s like the kid knows just what to say.

It’s like Aria all over again.

“You’re right,” Ky agrees with a sigh, burying his face in Sol’s uniform. “I can’t tell you this in real life.”

The drugs and post-coital exhaustion kick in then, and Ky’s breathing evens out as he drifts off. He doesn’t even stir when Sol arranges him back on the bed like they haven’t just debauched it.

“Damn it,” he mutters through gritted teeth. He’s been here too long. He’d been planning to leave in the morning. This should have been goodbye, and yet—

Ky looks so peaceful in sleep, paler cheeks the only sign of his condition. Outside, a passing airship casts a red light into the room, and Sol buries his face in his hands to hide from the déjà vu.

This time, they’re not even asking, and he still has to watch them die.

 _But you don’t,_ whispers a voice in his head. Insidious, the voice of the devil. _The power to save him already flows within your veins._

Sol stares at his hands, at the sins of his past.

Ky would hate him — Gears destroyed his life. And yet… He looks at the most promising knight the Order has seen since Kliff Undersn, dying in a hospital bed instead of on the battlefield.

Wars aren’t won by strength alone. Hope, the inspiration that Ky represents, can’t be replaced.

Sol shakes his head to clear it — he’s a hundred years too old to be justifying this.

He kisses Ky again — even in sleep, soft lips part willingly, sweetly for him. “I’m the one that’s sorry,” he whispers, shifting into Dragon Install. With a sharp claw, he slices a gash through inhuman flesh, drips almost-black blood past parted lips. Ky’s transformation will be slow, unlike his — no one will even notice. He shifts back as the wound closes and casts the necessary spell. _I can’t lose you too,_ he doesn’t say. After all these years of keeping his distance, he’s trapped in this vicious cycle of sin again.

Sol all but flees the room, feeling sick to his core.

He’s been here too long, but it’s not like he can run away now.

-+-+-+-+-+-

When Ky’s miraculous recovery is announced two weeks later, the world declares a holiday, praises the salvation of God. Sol doesn’t join the horde that gathers to receive him when he checks out of the hospital. Instead, it’s Ky who seeks him out, who finds him resting under the tree on the riverbank near their usual duelling spot.

“About damn time,” he drawls, keeping his eyes closed against the glare of the evening sun. “Things were growing dull without you, boy. As if even the Gears miss you out there.”

Ky huffs a laugh, voice stern when he replies, “I hope that doesn’t mean you’ve been slacking off.”

Sol smirks, leaning on his sword to climb to his feet. Blue eyes are unmistakably affectionate when he meets the other’s gaze, but Ky quickly looks away — shy. Sol knows what he’s thinking of, but only takes his usual stance — this is safer ground for them both.

“Let’s see if you’ve grown rusty in your absence.”

-+-+-+-+-+-

The following year, Kliff Undersn retires as Commander. He appoints Ky as his successor and insists that Sol take Ky’s place as a Divine Guardian. Ky worries if he can handle it — he’s only sixteen, after all. Sol tells him between cigarettes that it’s the sort of thing he’s made for.

There is some fancy ceremony, and they’re respectively given the Thunderseal and Fireseal. Sol tries not to laugh at being “honoured with” a weapon that he created. Ky, on the other hand… Ky looks like he’s been handed the Staff of Moses. Well, at least one of them is displaying the appropriate level of awe and gratitude.

Ky changes as the time passes. It’s slow, subtle — Sol notices because he’s looking. He’s stronger now, probably more so than a human should be, but Ky has always been a prodigy. The chord is different though, inhuman, not that many would know to tell.

Unexpectedly, the chords “attune,” and it’s as if Ky knows on some level that they have more in common with each other now than they do with anyone else. Where the boy had often pestered him before, now it’s as if Ky doesn’t want to leave his side. It’s easy to manufacture excuses — their respective positions require that they work together a lot. But by the time Ky’s falling asleep on him over paperwork, Sol grudgingly admits he doesn’t mind the mess he’s gotten himself into this time.

Six months later, they kill Justice.

The world rejoices. Sol has never felt more wretched.

To think he used _her…_

While the celebrations run on, Sol chars a segment of forest, pretends That Man’s face is on every tree. Just as well they’re disbanding the Order tomorrow — more than ever, he wants to bash his enemy’s face in. He’s still angry when the familiar knock comes as he’s packing what little he has, polite but insistent. He should know better than to open the door, but he does — story of his life.

“I missed you at the banquet,” Ky says quietly — he’s tipsier than he looks, less than he should be.

“Don’t worry.” Sol returns to his packing, leaves Ky to let himself in. “No one else did.”

Ky locks the door behind himself. “Where are you going?”

Sol shrugs. “We’re disbanding tomorrow.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to leave tomorrow.”

“There are things I have to do, boy," he replies tersely. "Unlike you, I had a life before this place.”

When he turns after tossing the last of his things into the bag, Ky is leaning against the wall, eyes trained on the floor. “Wh— Will you be back?”

“No. Why would I return to these headquarters?”

Ky opens his mouth to answer, but chokes, and Sol realizes it’s the wrong answer. “B—back to bounty hunting then?” The other soldiers on bravely, though his voice is softer now than it already was. “I heard from Master Kliff.”

Sol runs his hand through his hair irritably. “Among other things.”

“Such as?”

“None of your god damned business, Ky.” He doesn’t want to be having this conversation. He wants to be out there, hunting That Man down to rip him a new one. “I don’t have to tell you this.” And it’s better if Ky doesn’t know, if he’ll stay the hell out of this.

“No.” Ky pushes off from the wall, laughing bitterly. “No, you don’t, and I suppose it was stupid of me to think you’d want to, even now.” He turns to the door, but stops. “Why do you always have to do everything alone?!” He whirls then, storms over — righteous anger he can handle. “Right up till yesterday, you were still running off by yourself, defying orders, ignoring plans—”

“Ky, if you’ve got a problem, talk with your sword.” Sol grabs the Fireseal. “‘Cause you’re a shitty liar.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Sol, what’s with you?!” He shoves against Sol’s chest in frustration. “Why do you always have to be like this?!” He wants to go back now, back to the teasing and the sparring, to the companionable silence and the warm support, to before J— Lord, no, he can’t be thinking like this. “Good God, Sol, we’ve only just saved the world, and already we’re fighting like the war didn’t teach us anything.” He buries his face in his hands and steps back — this is wrong. This is coming out all wrong. “Stop,” he whispers at last, voice breaking. “Stop treating me like a kid, stop shutting me out.”

All the anger feels like it’s drained — Sol hasn’t seen Ky this unhinged since the boy was dying in the hospital. “Look, Ky—”

“God, forgive me; I thought it was enough.”

Ky closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to Sol’s. Sol is too shocked to react.

“Sorry.” He slumps, hands fisting in the fabric of Sol’s uniform. “I’m confused. I had too much wine earlier. In reality, there are things I want to tell you, but you’d only call me a child.”

“Stop,” Sol says at last, setting his sword aside. “You’ll regret this later.”

“Yes,” the other agrees. “But not as much as I’ll regret just letting you leave.”

“Ky, y—”

“No, I know. I know I can’t make you stay. There are things you have to do that you can’t tell me about, and that—that’s fine too. I just—” Ky takes a deep breath, exhales it shakily. “When you’ve done all that, when it’s over, will you come home?”

Home, he says, like it’s a place that exists for either of them, like it’s a place they can share together. Sol’s not sure how or when Ky got that idea into his head. This, he thinks, is penance — he could have left that morning; he could have let go.

“I’ll be waiting,” Ky says, more firmly this time, nodding as he backs away. “So come back, Sol." He hates this weakness. "Please come back.” He all but runs to the door.

Sol catches him by the wrist. “You _are_ a kid. A man wouldn’t run away.”

“Strategic retreat,” he corrects with a chuckle, still looking down. “Before I make things worse.”

“Take some responsibility,” Sol says to Ky, to himself. “You can’t run forever.” When it’s over… After That Man is dead, after all the other Gears are gone, if he’s still alive… He can atone for this too.

He steps closer, but it's Ky who leans in, unsure, inviting, and it’s like déjà vu — it was like this with Aria in the beginning too.

Sol closes the rest of the distance, Ky makes a needy sound in the back of his throat, and he can't help cradling the boy to him more tightly.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think this is all you've ever wanted," he teases when they part for air.

“It is,” Ky admits with a self-deprecating laugh. “I just feel less guilty when I’m only dreaming about it.”

They fall into bed, spooning close in the small space under the covers. It was easier, Sol thinks, when Ky was still denying these things, safer, but he doesn’t dislike the surprising honesty. He nuzzles golden hair, inhales deeply of honey and vanilla. Ky seems content to snuggle close, to lace their fingers and relax into slumber. Guilty, he reflects, is something they can share.

He's certain the _relief_ in blue eyes when they're woken by the alarm isn't just his imagination.

-+-+-+-+-+-

“He _what_?!”

Sol doesn’t wait for the reporting soldier’s answer, sprinting ahead with full certainty — he can sense them, they’re fighting, and he shoves away the voice jeering, “It’s too late~ It’s too late~ It’s too late~”

He bursts into the room just as a burst of blinding light floods it, and when he can see again, Ky is falling to the floor, Dizzy’s sword is reverting into her arm, and it feels like she’d stabbed him instead. He didn’t think it could be worse — he never forgot, but he hadn’t actually had to watch the Aria he knew die.

“KY!!!”

Sol would go to the boy, but then Dizzy is turning to him, her red eyes full of hate. “You! You traitor... Why do you help mankind?!”

He matches her glare. It’s all he can do to reign in the rage and grief, to listen for a reason. Because Ky would have, that reckless, stubborn idiot. “That's my line. Unlike Justice, your heart should be free. So why?! Why do you kill?!”

“Don't you dare talk about Mother so easily!” she cries, wings lifting her off the floor.

He scoffs, unbuckling the limiter on his head. What would she know about Justice, about Aria? “A kid's crying, huh.” He’ll have to take back everything he ever said about Ky being immature.

“What did you say?!”

“This little brat…” he bites out through gritted teeth as the headpiece falls to the floor. All those people, even Ky, all for this foolish, _foolish_ vengeance, all for his past sins. “Wreaking destruction just because she's irritated.” He doesn’t know whom he’s more furious at, and it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter now that Ky’s dead too. “Can't save you now.” He gives in now — to the anger, to the voices clamouring for destruction in his head. “Now you die. DRAGON INSTALL!!!”

“You... I'll kill you!!”

He feels the shift as they charge at each other, the rush of power. Where once he held it back, now he lets it run free. _Just like her mother,_ he thinks as they trade blows, as he takes all the pain out on his enemy. _Only more power and less skill._

They keep going, equally matched, and the equipment around them bears the brunt of their raw strength. The building is going up in flames, parts of the ground have melted to lava, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now. This ends here.

“TYRANT RAVE!!!”

Despite blocking, she goes flying backwards and has to use her wings to stop. “Heh.” She lands, taking a stance. “The power that can defeat even Mother…” Her wings shift as she gears up for another attack. “But I will not be defeated! I’ll avenge M—AAAHHHH!!!”

Dizzy shrieks as a million volts of electricity surge through her body, and Sol doesn’t wait. Dashing forward, he slices her head clean off with the Fireseal, and the sight of Ky standing behind her is enough to shock him out of his transformation.

“Ky…”

At the sound of his voice, the other finally moves, pulling the Thunderseal out of Dizzy’s charred body and staggering towards the nearest piece of machinery to steady himself. “I shouldn’t…” Ky stops, takes another shaky breath, swallows thickly and tries again. “I shouldn’t be alive.” His voice is stronger this time, and when he looks up, his eyes are red. “What are you?”

It’s too much to hope for, of course, that Ky didn’t see any of that, but Sol is grateful enough that the boy’s alive, that he hasn’t killed this one too.

“What have you done to me?”

The prototype Gear sighs, relief turning into resignation as he reaches up. Ky deserves the truth — the truth of his selfishness, the truth of his sins.

“The only thing that could save your life, boy,” he answers, pushing his hair back to reveal the Gear mark. “It wasn’t a miracle that cured you of TP.”

He watches as the other sags against the machine, as a hand flies up to clamp over Ky’s mouth, as realization sinks in with shocked horror. He smiles wistfully, driving the Fireseal into the floor. It’s all right, he thinks, if this is how he loses Ky. This is fair.

“Do it,” he says more softly, stepping into range. They’ve destroyed most of the major Gear threats; the rest can easily be dispatched — with Dizzy gone, his atonement is complete. “I turned you into the very abomination we despised, perpetuated the very crime that was committed against me a hundred and sixty years ago.” Finally, he can rest. “Put an end to this, Ky. It’s your right.”

Ky’s grip tightens on the Thunderseal, but he doesn’t move.

Sol waits, but doesn’t close his eyes. Ky, Aria… he wants to remember.

Outside, the sounds of battle are dying down, and footsteps are quickly approaching.

Ky’s gaze drops to the headgear on the floor not too far away. “Put that back on.” When he doesn’t respond, “Hurry, before they see you.”

The hissed urgency in Ky’s voice spurs him into action, and he’s pulling the last buckle into place when the first company of knights pours into the room.

“Sir!”

Their Commander doesn’t turn. “It’s over,” Ky says wearily. “Dizzy’s dead. Make the announcement.”

There’s a beat before it hits, and cheers erupt throughout the army. The soldiers run out, proclaiming their victory, and all around, the sounds of triumph and celebration rise. After over a century of war, no amount of grief for the fallen, for the massive death toll, can eclipse their relief and elation that the tragedy is over.

As everyone rushes to spread the good news, they are left alone again, and in the room’s empty silence, the sound of the Thunderseal clattering to the floor is too loud.

“Ky!” Sol catches the knight before he collapses. “Hey!” Ky may have survived, but his injuries are still serious, and killing Dizzy depleted most of his magic reserves. It’s too soon to assume he’s out of danger. “Ky, w—”

“I’ll be fine,” comes the reply, quiet but firm, then “Wait. If there’s another Command-Type, will I—”

“No. Our Gear cells are different. Just as I was immune to Justice and Dizzy’s control, you will be as well.”

Ky relaxes, leaning heavily against him. “Good… The last thing we need is another war.”

Sol holds the other tightly to him, buries his face in soft blond hair. “Sorry.” He owes Ky a lot more than an apology. “If you want to m—”

“Sol,” Ky interrupts with finality. “If we’re both damned, the least you could do is stay with me.”

It takes a second, but then Sol is huffing a laugh — he hasn’t been this happy since Aria was well.

Suddenly, Ky makes a sound of pain and surprise as his body glows. Sol whirls at the at once familiar yet alien chords, searching for the spellcaster. “You!” He retrieves the Fireseal, but before he can charge at the newcomer, Ky sags against him as the spell ends. "Ky!"

“Congratulations, Frederick,” says a voice too familiar for comfort as the hooded figure steps into clear view. Behind him is a woman Sol has seen sometimes before, clad in red leather and carrying a green electric guitar. “You have completely destroyed Justice and Dizzy. And to you as well, Commander Kiske. The army you shaped in the forges of this war is our only hope for survival as a species. Together, you have saved our future.”

Ky lifts his face weakly to see. “Who…?”

“The creator of Justice,” he growls bitterly, never taking his eyes off the man in white. “The source of this war… and the man that turned my body into a Gear." Every fibre of his being screams at him to rip the monster’s throat out, but he can’t leave Ky unprotected in this condition. "What have you done to him?!"

"Perfecting your work, Frederick. I stabilised his transformation, so he can always retain this form."

"This is..." He examines Ky more closely. “...the Command staves?"

"Very good. If it's him, I trust there won't be any problems. Together, you are the hopes of the world."

Ky groans in pain, but reaches for the Thunderseal.

“Unfortunately,” That Man shakes his head sadly, “the force that drives the ‘merciless Apocalypse’ will only find other ways to achieve its ends, so I cannot allow you to stop me here. There is ‘something’ that only I can do.” He waves his hand, and a portal opens into white light. “Frederick, you too must live on, you and him both. Live on and grow stronger. Hate me if it will give you strength. Someday soon, once again, there will be ‘something’ that only you two can do.”

“Wait!” Sol shouts, but That Man and his lady companion have gone, and the portal is closing. “Tch.”

“Sol..." Ky sways, gripping his head. “What's happening? My head... There are voices..."

Sol locks his arms tightly around Ky, at once to comfort and restrain. “It'll pass," he lies. “Don't lose yourself."

"No... No, no, no, stop."

Slender fingers dig painfully into his back, but he only tightens his hold. He has to believe.

“Stop it! That's horrible. Go away. I won't listen to you!"

“Ky, this is real. You can't give in."

“No. Stop. I won't, I won't," Ky mumbles more firmly this time, and Sol lets out a relieved sigh, relaxing his hold a fraction. He hates to admit That Man is right — Ky is rarely anything but a paragon of self-control, and even with the power to destroy the world, his heart is too kind.

It takes a few minutes, but the other stops hyperventilating and seems to get a grip on himself. “Is it like this for you too?" he asks quietly as he straightens.

"Hn. A bit. Swear you’ll never give in, Ky."

Ky nods, calming down. “You’ll stop me, won’t you?”

“Don’t you dare,” Sol growls fiercely. He _won’t_ do this again.

Chuckling, Ky stops, remembering something, and his brow furrows with worry. "Sol, what does he mean? A merciless apocalypse…”

“Don’t listen to him.” Honestly, Sol's more worried about Ky — he doesn’t trust That Man.

“But—”

He lifts Ky because the boy can't walk. “Let’s just go home.” He needs to take a closer look.

Ky gasps — the eyes looking into his own are blue again, blue and shining.

He pauses and frowns. “What?”

Ky shakes his head, wrapping slender arms around Sol’s neck as he begins to walk.

“I’ve waited five years to hear you say that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks for reading, and I love any and all feedback. Please leave some! ♥


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